Journal 1999
by md1016
Summary: The first three months of postcolonization Earth from Scully's point of view.


Rated: NC-17  
Summary: The first three months of post-colonization Earth from Scully's point of view.

Journal 1999 - Chapter 1 by MD1016

"After all that we have had to endure these last few months, I now look back on the mundane -- the trips to the dry cleaners, endless piles of paperwork, buying a carton of milk -- with a relish that only the aged and infirm have understood. Now, of course, we all understand"  
-Dana Katherine Scully journal entry, December 31, 1999.

October 16, 1999 County Court House,  
Falls Church, VA

The walls of the courthouse needed painting. The chipped grey enamel showed a layer of tan and white underneath, and the dark wood wainscots that lined the lower half of the walls were dull with a build-up of dust and grime. There had been a time, probably about the time the century old building was brand-new, when craftsmanship and quality were highly prized, when people respected the Courts of Law and the government and fought to protect them. Scully had felt that way, too, once, when she was younger.

At that moment, Scully felt like the neglected courthouse.

She looked down at her wrinkled black pant suit. It was so completely appropriate that she would have chosen black for the occasion. Though to be fair, two days before, when she'd first put the suit on she hadn't known they were going to end up here. And anyway, the dirt and dried blood didn't show up against the black,  
and the bits on her sleeve where the alien blood had dissolved the fabric didn't catch the light as much as a lighter color might have.

Mulder tugged her hand. She'd forgotten he was holding it. "We're up next," he murmured in her ear.

She nodded and turned back to the grey curl of paint on the floor by the American flag, and then to the flag itself. It had hung, huge and limp, on the tall copper pole for so long that the natural folds in the draped material had become creases.

Mulder pulled her hand again and led the way to the judge's bench. The heavy-set woman glanced down at their file through thick bifocals. "Mr. Fox W. Mulder and Dr. Dana K. Scully?"

"Yes, your Honor." Mulder answered for the both of them.

The judge played with a paperclip as she met Mulder's gaze. He fidgeted a little, shifting from foot to foot, and Scully couldn't help noticing the pieces of paint chips that littered the floor around his shiny black shoes. She looked up to find the ceiling was even worse than the walls, with dried, bulging water marks and the stark blotch of white caulk where someone had tried to do a patch job.

"Scully." When she turned to him, his eyes were intense. "This is important." He nodded towards the judge.

"I'm sorry," she began, seeing the scrutiny in the older woman's eyes. "I've...I've had a rough couple of days."

The judge pursed her lips. "Dr. Scully, I asked if your intentions to enter into matrimony are sincere. It troubles me that the occasion isn't keeping your attention."

Scully sighed. "I just haven't slept." Mulder squeezed her hand so tightly she flinched.

The judge's eyes narrowed. "Dr. Scully, please approach the bench."

Scully saw the anxiety in Mulder's eyes, but couldn't bring herself to share it. The previous four days had left her emotionally dead and physically drained. Three steps forward without Mulder at her side,  
and Scully looked into the grey eyes of Judge Francis H.  
Beaterman.

"I can't help but notice the bruises and the cuts and scrapes, Dr.  
Scully." Scully lifted two fingers to her cheek. She'd almost forgotten about the alien and the canister of frozen embryos that had become a make-shift weapon. He'd left a larger, darker bruise on her left hip and rib cage trying to kick her away, but she'd gotten the bastard in the end.

She and Mulder had gotten all of the little bastards.

"I need to know if you're here voluntarily, Dr. Scully."

"I am."

"Marriage is a contractual bond between two people that cannot be easily broken. If there's some reason that I shouldn't marry you to Mr. Mulder, I need to know this now."

"I realize that," Scully replied.  
"And you have nothing to add? Are you sure you want to be bonded legally to this man for the rest of your life?"

Scully sighed. Bonded to Mulder. Married to Mulder. It was true that not one word of love had been spoken, just a quick 'we have to get married' followed closely by 'and get out of the country'. But it was Mulder after all, what did she expect? That's the way everything was between them.

She shrugged. "I already am."

For a long minute Judge Beaterman studied Scully's resolute expression. Then she looked at Mulder. "Do you, Mr. Mulder,  
enter into this marriage willingly and without hesitation?"

"I do."

"And do you, Dr. Scully, enter into this marriage willingly and without hesitation?"

"I do."

"Fine." The judge smacked her gavel in disgust, and signed the certificate. "Sign the license."

The bailiff took the folder and set it down on a table next to the bench. Mulder scribbled his signature on the top line and then handed Scully the black ball point pen. The line below said in bold lettering: BRIDE'S MARRIED NAME. Scully stared at it. Was she supposed to write Dana Mulder?

"Scully?" Mulder's face was pale under the fluorescent lights and the veins by his eyes were more prominent than ususal. "Sign your name, Dana."

"Dana," she whispered as if it were the answer to some mutual joke. He only called her Dana when he was scared. Or when he thought she might be. But she wasn't scared. She wasn't anything.

She signed Dana Scully.

The bailiff stamped the certificate, pressed it with the state seal and handed it to her.

"Congratulations. By the power invested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

The next couple started to walk up to take their places in front of the judge, and the bailiff pointed to the small, battered wood-carved gate on the far side of the courtroom. But before Scully could turn,  
Mulder grabbed her arm. His face was strained and unreadable.

Then he kissed her.

His lips were soft and warm, pressed firmly against her own. But all Scully could think while he gripped her tightly by the shoulders was that if she were half a foot taller, or he a half foot shorter, they would have made a much nicer picture. If anyone had wanted to take their picture.

It was no wonder when Mulder pulled away, and slipped an envelope from his jacket pocket. "We have a plane to catch."

The look on his face was stony, blank. Hadn't she kissed him back? She couldn't remember. "I'm sorry," she started to say, but he placed a hand to her lower back and steered her out of the court room before she could get out the rest of the apology.

He was silent all the way to the airport. Scully was too tired to broach a conversation, and too empty to care. She sat beside him in the passenger seat, head resting on the seat belt that cut too close to her neck. She watched the city go by, knowing she'd never see the sight again; yet unable to muster even the slightest glimmer of remorse or grief.

At the airport, Assistant Director Skinner met them at the gate with a small velvet box. "I guess congratulations are in order." His thin lips were set in a grimace of a smile.

"Thanks." Mulder's voice was flat. He flipped the box open and lifted it for Scully to see. The twin rings that peeked out from the pocket were thick gold bands. She nodded absently.

After a moment's hesitation he snatched one of the rings up and jammed it on her left hand and slipped the other on his own. She tried to offer him a smile, but he refused to meet her eyes. Instead,  
he addressed Skinner. "Were the boys able to get to Mrs. Scully?"

"Byers called with a 'mission complete'. We're still working on locating your mother."

Mulder lowered his head and nodded.

"The two of you have done all that you can. The President is going to make a statement in about an hour. Then all hell's going to break loose here."

"What are you going to do?" Mulder asked.

Skinner's nostrils flared. "I've still got some unfinished business to take care of." He placed a hand on their shoulders and said with sincerity, "It has been an honor working with the two of you."

"Thank you, sir." Again, Mulder spoke for both of them.

"Now, then." Skinner collected himself. "Your passports will get you into the country, and your marriage license should get you on the short list for housing and job placement. It's hard to say what's going to happen to the world economy, so here's some hard currency." He handed Mulder a thick envelope. "There's not much else I can do for you."

"We appreciate all of your help, sir."

The intercom crackled to life and their flight started boarding .

The plane took off without a hitch, and from her window seat Scully watched the city of DC shrink and then fade from sight completely under a white layer of cloud cover. Beside her, Mulder tried to find a comfortable position for his long legs.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Scully," he said at last. "It's a nine hour flight."

Just then the large movie screen flickered with static, and the captain's voice came over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen,  
we've just been advised by tower control out of DC to turn our monitors to CNN." A moment later an image of the President of the United States came into focus. His usually pallid face was red,  
his eyes were moist but steady.

"Fellow Americans, and People of the World. Three weeks ago I addressed you in much this same way to explain to you the Truth that had been undeniably proven to me: that the existence of extra-  
terrestrials is a real and documented fact, and they have come to our planet.

"At that time, the leaders of all the major world countries were contacted, and the world's foremost scientific minds were collected. It was our intent to greet these visitors, to learn from them and share our knowledge, to understand the things which are beyond us, and to find a way to peacefully co-exist. We now know their intentions to be far from our. To the lethal degree.

"Our Visitors have turned Colonist.

"From this minute, 18:30 hours Eastern Standard Time, I'm declaring a State of Emergency within the boarders of the fifty United States and am reverting all government power to martial law. I have advised the other world leaders to do the same.

"A curfew is in effect beginning at sundown. If you are traveling,  
please return home. You have twenty-four hours before a cease travel mandate is ordered."

A rush of protests and questions flooded the cabin of the plane, but the President's plea broke through the mayhem. "Please. Please remain calm. Tune into your local radio and television news stations. I'm asking all personnel there to continue working until this crisis has past."

The President took a breath and stopped reading from the prompter. His voice was tightly controlled. "I would now like to take a moment and ask any person seeing this broadcast who believes in a higher power to pray for the safety and well-being of every man, woman and child on this planet.

"May God save us all."

Scully closed her own eyes and offered up a short prayer. Mulder's warm, solid hand gently covered her own.

The flight was long and surreal. Everyone moved almost as if in slow motion, and shock colored every word and gesture. Barely anyone could stomach the in-flight meal, and the alcoholic beverages were sold out in the first two hours. After that the cabin lights dimmed, most of the over-head reading lamps followed suit. Passengers tried to sleep, half-hoping that they'd wake up a continent away to discover it was all nothing more than a cruel joke.

They woke to find, however, that all hell had broken loose.

Europeans have intimate knowledge of the horrors of war, and the panic that followed the American President's announcement reflected it. In Customs at Schripol Airport in Amsterdam,  
travelers were panicking and crying out in more languages than Scully could distinguish. Flights were canceled and families split apart by the Cease Travel Edict that every governed nation had chosen to impose.

But Mulder stood tall beside her, gripping her hand like he was afraid she might be ripped from him. She wasn't used to holding hands, but his was warm and strong, and helped to remind her that even if nothing else was right with the world, Mulder was still with her. Together, they waited in the Customs line for more than three hours before they were motioned forward. Mulder pushed their passports across the desk.

"American?" The blond officer's accent was thickly Dutch.

Mulder nodded.

"You know you cannot return home?"

Mulder nodded again.

"What is your business in the Netherlands?"

"We just got married," Mulder said without hesitation. "We were on our way to our honeymoon." He tugged Scully's hand and motioned to the officer with a nod of his chin, and she handed the officer the license she'd kept safely folded in her fist -- her fingers ached from gripping it so tightly.

The man's eyes roamed over the paper and then back to their passports. "Where are you staying?"

"A hotel. In Maastricht. Along the river." He produced a brochure.

But then the officer turned to her and demanded, "Explain your blue marks." He was young, she realized, couldn't be more than twenty- five. And his English, while passing, probably hadn't been tested outside of his job.

"Blue marks?"

"On your face and neck." His pale eyes were glued to the bruise that started under her right ear and disappeared into her collar.

"Oh." She forced herself not to look at Mulder. "Car accident. A couple of days ago." The officer's eyes narrowed a little. "I'm OK,  
really. Nothing broken." When the man's gaze fell to Mulder's hand in hers she squeezed it. He squeezed back with a reassuring smile that would've set her mind at ease, had she felt unnerved...or anything at all.

The slam of the stamp on the passports jerked Scully's attention back to the Customs Officer. "Congratulations on your marriage"  
the young man said, and slid the documents back to Mulder.

"Thanks." He had their paperwork and Scully out the door before the officer could think about changing his mind.

Baggage Claim was like the disorder and chaos they'd just left in Customs, but without the organization of lines. There were far more people than suitcases, and Scully guessed that to be the source of the majority of the panic. It took less than ten minutes for her to realize that she and Mulder were in the same predicament as many of their fellow passengers. Resigned to being one of the unfortunates, Scully found space on a low bench against a wall and sat with a heavy sigh.

When Mulder's shoes appeared in her line of sight, she didn't have to look up to know he was frowning at her. "Our bags aren't here."

"I'd just come to that same conclusion myself."

He shifted feet. "Scully? You OK?"

"Sure."

Mulder knelt down in front of her and lifted her face from her hands. He didn't seem to like what he was seeing. Maybe she looked as empty as she felt.

"Listen, I'll fill out the paperwork for our bags and then we'll just go to the hotel, OK?"

"OK." For a second she thought he might kiss her again, but instead he gave her a weak grin, turned and walked away.

The train ride to Maastricht took just over two hours. Scully pressed her forehead to the cool window and watched the scenery go by: houses and cars on narrow roads, green trees, green grasses,  
green gardens and pastures.

At one point a man with a narrow plastic cart came down the isle selling refreshments.

"Hungry?" Mulder asked. She shook her head. "Scully, you didn't sleep on the plane, did you?"

"You know I can't sleep on planes." The statement must've bitten more than she'd intended because he flinched.

Scully turned back to the view speeding past outside the window. She knew she should apologize, tell him that he wasn't to blame for anything that was happening to them. That it was because of his work that the world had a fighting chance. But the compassion that she knew she should feel simply wasn't in her. Not even for Mulder.

For several minutes the quiet between them was filled with the clanking wheels and gentle rocking of the train. Then Mulder reached out and pulled her shoulders back against him and wrapped his arms around her. The backwards hug was awkward, but Scully knew it was more to comfort himself than her so she let him hold her tight, and ran a light hand over his forearm. She felt a slight pressure from the kiss he placed on the top of her head, and he began to slowly comb his fingers back from her hairline until she finally relaxed enough to succumb to fatigue.

For the first time in days, Scully sank into a dreamless sleep.

His voice said her name as he shifted beneath her, and then she was on her feet walking beside him. She felt impossibly light with his hand tucked under her arm pit and her cheek pressed firmly into his side. It was difficult to pull herself completely from sleep, so she let him lead the way to a waiting taxi.

The world around Scully was too vivid and colorful to take in more than a blink at a time, but it played out behind her eyelids with dream-like slowness. The steady vibration of the cab and Mulder's consistent inhales and exhales against her ear lulled her back into a deep sleep.

She had no memory of arriving at the hotel, but when she briefly woke in the middle of the night, Mulder was curled on his side facing her. He still wore the white shirt and dress pants from the day before, as well as the worry lines on his brow that he'd picked up sometime the previous week. He was sleeping soundly, so Scully closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift.

The shaking started long before Scully was conscious of it. She was still sleeping when Mulder pulled her from the bed and pressed her between himself and one of the walls. The ceiling fixture shattered on the floor, and every bauble that wasn't tied down went flying.

"Earthquake?" she yelled above the roar. Where the hell were they?

"Let's get outta here." He grabbed her wrist and they feld down the flight of stairs and into the small lobby, where a mass of hysterical people were already gathering and demanding answers from hotel workers who had none. The floors were waxed and slick, and the tremors shook furniture across the lobby as if it were nothing more than a handful of marbles. Paintings and flower arrangements became projectiles. People clung to each other to stay up right.

After a moment's hesitation, Mulder again yanked her arm and the two of them stumbled out on to the cobble stone street. Passing cars had stopped; pedestrians clung to poles and signs to stay upright; a group of teens pressed themselves against the building opposite, crying and frightened.

Mulder drew Scully close as he scanned the black and green boiling clouds that darkened the morning sky. The gusts of wind that Scully hadn't even noticed died instantly, their absence painfully obvious. The ground continued to shake.

"Mulder," she screamed above the din, "what's happening?"

"I don't -" Before he could finished the sentence, the sky ripped open with a bolt of lighting and a thunderclap, and a deluge of torrential proportions rained down on them.

The storm and the earthquake together were deafening. Mulder yelled something and pushed her back towards the hotel. In a daze,  
she gripped the hotel door and pulled herself back inside just as the lights flickered and then died completely. Scully froze. But Mulder found her waist and curled his arm around her. He eased her back against himself and the wall. They huddled there, and held each other.

The earthquake continued.

Mulder's mouth lowered to her ear. Scully held her breath and was just able to make out the words between warm wet puffs of air. "Scully...God. It's begun."

End of Chapter 1   
Journal 1999 - Chapter 2 by MD1016

"The Bible says that God created the Earth in six days, and on the seventh he rested. The Colonists took six days to destroy God's creation"  
-Dana Katherine Scully journal entry October 25, 1999

October 18, 1999 Maastricht, The Netherlands

When the quakes didn't end that night, and the rains showed no sign of letting up when morning came, Mulder forced Scully from their spot against the hotel lobby wall and out into the chilly wet. It was a dark morning, and with the quakes, disorienting. The cityscape had changed considerably during the course of the turbulent night:  
what were once historic buildings that had survived hundreds of years of wars and weather were now nothing more than rubble and dust. The narrow streets were made narrower with toppled buildings and crumbling walls, drainage ditches and sewer holes were over flowing, and the cobblestone and brick streets had become shallow canals.

Scully ran along side her partner, fighting the growing current that curled around her calves, and the wind, and the rains. Mulder held her hand tightly, but with the ceaseless low-grade quaking below her feet she slipped twice anyway, pulling him down with her.

The water was frigid. When she again stumbled on numb feet and fell forward, she landed on to something soft and pliant; something that, judging from the bloating, had been dead for most of the night.  
Mulder was already pulling her up by her left arm when the raw panic coursed through her, taking control. She screamed and thrashed, pushing blindly at the body and anything else that touched her. Her hysteria only managed to loosen Mulder's grip and drop her once again into the water with the dead man.

The corpse's lips were blue, its mouth gaping; its eyes, completely dilated, staring blindly up into the rain. One of its hands brushed hers as Mulder finally pulled her clear, and the deathly cold fingers sent a chill through her. She trembled, watching the body float away down the rapids of the street, the sound of the rain and tremors dimmed by her own continual whimpers. The edges of her vision blackened, she collapsed, shaking. Mulder caught her and she hung limply in his arms. The river kicked her feet out from under her.

He pulled her up and pressed her against his chest as he waded to one of the buildings along the road. Another swollen body, that of a middle aged blond woman, swept by.

Scully barely recognized the sound of glass shattering. Mulder had nearly stuffed her head-first through the small window before her arms and legs began to work again and she was able to crawl into the dark store front. The inside of the bakery was much like the hotel in that parts of the building were starting to crumble and everything breakable was already shattered and thrown around the store. Days old bread and muffins still sat in clear plastic bins, but the bins were cracked and threatening to collapse.

With Mulder's help, Scully sat heavily in one of the caf‚ chairs, and tried to catch her breath. When had she started hyperventilating? Mulder placed his hands on her knees and knelt before her. He'd been touching her a lot the last couple of days, more than usual.  
She clutched at her chest in an effort to get her breathing back under control.

He ran his fingers up her arms. "Are you OK?"

"I...will be." Her throat was sore, spent. "I don't know what came over me. The sight of a corpse has never affected me like that. I'm a pathologist for Christsake."

He leaned in closer. "You're in shock, Scully. You've had a traumatic week, and you haven't allowed yourself an outlet. You've barely slept, you've eaten nothing in more than 24 hours, and you're grieving."

His face was so close that when she whispered he could probably feel her words on his face. "It hasn't been that bad." Before she'd even finished the thought he looked at her in disbelief. "We've been through worse," she insisted.

"Scully." He gripped her legs tighter and his gentle intensity told her how truly worried he was about her. "Charlie."

One word brought it all back. The image of her youngest brother,  
his blue eyes mirroring her own horror as the alien creature ripped a hole in his abdomen so large his intestines spilled out onto the floor seconds before his throat was sliced and he dropped gasping, and then died.

Oh. Right. Charlie.

Mulder's index finger ran lightly over the bruise on her neck, and her stomach fluttered and then turned over. She clamped a hand on his wrist to steady herself.

God. Charlie. She closed her eyes to keep the thoughts from her head, but instead the images of Charlie's desperate eyes begging her for help came back with amazing clarity. Scully choked.

And then, all at once, the earthquake stopped.

The two of them actually had to reach out and brace themselves against the stillness. Scully's ears started to ring from the sudden quiet. The torrential rains continued outside, but the downpour was like a whisper without the angry grumble from the quake. The building over them creaked as it shifted.

The calm before the end, her mind told her. The apocalypse is now. She turned back to the man kneeling before her, the man with whom she'd spent most of the previous six years of her life. Her once-partner, sometimes-friend. Her lover, but only in the most chaste, innocent sense of the word. Her husband.

Mulder's eyes were unfathomably deep, their rich hazel raising a lump in her throat in a way that nothing else in the past week had managed to do. Tears prickled in her eyes and then spilled over. He reached up with two fingers to brush them away, and it was then that she realized that he was shaking, too.

He started to say the words that she'd been waiting for all of her life and it was like a frozen needle through her heart that he would wait until these last moments. "Scully, I l-" was all he could get out.

She grabbed his head and pressed her mouth to his, clamping the words between them, and his lips quivered against the pressure. The energy between them was sharp, electric, pulling them closer each time they opened their mouths; each kiss melting seamlessly into the next. He was soft and warm, delicious, comforting, and a hundred other things all at once.

And suddenly all the emotions that had abandoned her days before began to churn in the very pit of her stomach. She ground her lips against his, desperate for him and the sensations that he brought to a boil inside of her.

And just as instantly Mulder yanked her head away from his. Breathless, Scully tried to focus on what had gone wrong. Why had he stopped? He wiped away the tears that slipped unchecked over her cheeks with his thumbs.

With her head still cradled between his palms, he placed tiny wet kisses on the corners of her mouth, on her nose, eyes and finally a lingering pressure on her forehead. "Scully," he whispered, "the things you do to me."

When he stood and had to rearrange his pants, she understood his sudden withdrawal. And she started to laugh. The phrasing Charlie had always used was "laughing like a maniac". And remembering that made her laugh even harder. It was bubbly and contagious and high-pitched, and -- ever since high school -- always to be avoided. But Scully couldn't stop; not even when the stitch in her side turned in to a painful cramp.

Mulder smiled quizzically at first, and then she saw realization sweep over his face and it drove her deeper into hysterics. His expression dropped into one of concern. But she couldn't stop the laughter -- she didn't really want to stop. She held her stomach and doubled over the pain, enjoying the cathartic release. Her head throbbed. It felt so good to feel anything at all.

Mulder nodded grimly and walked away, letting her release the pent-up tension in her own way.

He returned just as her laughter started to die down with luke-  
warm bottled water and a couple of muffins. Scully was shocked at how hungry she was. The worry lines around his eyes eased a little when she got up to get herself a second and then a third pastry,  
which she ate between minor bouts of giggles.

"I still feel giddy," she confessed as she wiped the crumbs from her fingers. "But at least I'm feeling something."

"Everything's going to be OK, Scully." She couldn't help the smile that crept across her lips. Even after a day long earthquake in a foreign country and a monsoon in full swing outside he still saw a light at the end of their very long proverbial tunnel. Leave it to Mulder to believe in the extreme possibilities.

Once Scully's heart rate died down, and her butterflies settled, they set out again in the rain. Mulder led her through the flood to a brick house, where he knocked on the bright green door. The sound of his knuckles on the thick wood door was drowned out by the downpour, so he tried the door knob. Locked.

"Is this the place?" She looked around doubtfully. There was nothing to distinguish this building from any of the others, save the color of the door, and the brass 133 screwed to its center. "It doesn't look like anyone's home."

"I think it's the place." He pulled a scrap of folded paper from his pocket and dangled it in front of her. The ink was smeared and illegible. Mulder pounded on the door with his fist. Still nothing. "I hope."

Behind them the river Maas was overflowing its banks, taking cars and trees with it as it spilled into the city streets adding to the murky waters there. The building offered no overhang to protect them from the storm, but the steps elevated them from the flood.

Scully, miserable and cold, yanked at her wet suit pants and sat down at the base of the door. "I hope so, too."

Mulder followed her example. They watched the water flow by,  
carrying bloated dogs, baby carriages, garbage cans and other debris in its current.

"So what is this place?" she finally asked. "I take it we're supposed to meet someone here."

"We're not really here for our honeymoon, Scully."

"Now there's a shock." She scooted closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. The rain was oppressive, and he was warm. "Are you finally going to let me in on the big secret?"

"What little I know." There was an edge of frustration in his voice. Mulder wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and rubbed vigorously. It helped, but didn't stop her shivers. "Yesterday, after we got back from the compound --"

"That was three days ago."

Mulder gazed down at her with a look of surprise. "Yeah. You're right. Everything's sort of running together." He swallowed and hugged her closer. "So, when I got home, I found Skinner in my apartment."

"Skinner?" She could count on one hand the number of times their boss had made a special trip to one of their homes, and none of those times ended pleasantly. "He gave you the address?"

"Yeah." He tossed the ruined piece of paper away. "He's the one responsible for getting us out of the country. He set all of this up."

"This? This what?"

For a moment he stared out at the rain. The railings and carefully planted trees gave definition to the flooded river, and made it clear just how much water had fallen the previous day. Then Mulder cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "He said he had inside information of the imminent attack. That it was useless to try and fight at this stage, and that the major players had a plan that was already set in motion to retaliate when the Colonists least expected. He convinced me this was the only way."

"Again you say 'this.' What is 'this?'"

"We're here to meet up with a group from the resistance."

"To do what, specifically?"

He quickly glanced down at her and then back out at the rain. "I'm not sure, exactly."

"What?" Cold, exhausted, hungry, and a full bladder was doing little to help her patience with him. "Tell me, Mulder, that we're here for a reason. Tell me we're not out in the middle of this torrential downpour because Skinner scribbled something on a piece of paper."

"There wasn't a lot of time to talk. " A crash of lightening light up the sky for an instant, and then the wind started to pick up a little more.

Scully burrowed deeper into his chest. It hurt to be so cold.

"Anyway, arrangements had to be made we had to get the blood tests and the marriage license..." He stopped talking when Scully looked up into his eyes. He was shaking, too, and pale in the twilight of the afternoon storm.

"Mulder." She fought to keep her voice level. "Please tell me that we didn't get married because of Skinner."

He licked his lips. "He thought it would be a good idea and I agreed," he added quickly. "The Resistance group didn't want me. They wanted you and your knowledge and experience with the Colonists, and your scientific background. You're one of the few scientists left alive that has practical experience with the Colonists."

"Which is why they wanted me to deliver the virus to that compound two days ago," she mused grimly. "I'm assuming you got that sample of the vaccine from them. And they were the ones who gave you the location of the facility..."

He nodded slowly. "Scully, you've got to know that I had no idea your brother would be at your place that night. And I certainly didn't think he'd insist on going along "

"I know," she said quickly to shut him up. Talking about it made it worse somehow. And she was in too much pain physically to endure the emotional struggle at the moment. "So Skinner told you he thought we should be married, and you agreed."

"Yep."

"And?"

"And so...we're married."

She blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She turned from him again and gaze out at the sheets of water hitting the river. Her eyes were becoming irritated by the rain that she couldn't blink away fast enough, and her vision was clouding a little from the irritation.

"OK." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "What are you leaving out? We've traveled half way across the globe to sit in the middle of what is quite possibly the worst storm this city has ever seen because Skinner told you to? You've never done what he'd told you before. How do you know he hasn't sold us out?"

"To who? The Colonists?"

Exasperation crept into her voice. "Mulder, this makes zero sense."

He sneezed. "It made sense at the time."

"Your logic is faulty."

"Everybody's a critic."

The storm intensified. Another huge lighting strike touched down on the other side of the shadowy buildings across the Maas. It left a chard smell of ozone in the wet air.

"You know," Scully said slowly, "I used to be terrified of lightning. When I was a kid. I hated the never knowing when the thunder was going to follow. But I don't mind this lightning. It makes it all seem a little less artificial." She squeezed her arms around his middle, and closed her eyes. "You think it's raining in DC right now, too? I hate DC in the rain."

"Well. Then it's just as well."

She felt him place a small kiss against the top of her head, and for some strange reason, as miserable as she was, she smiled. "Yeah. It's just as well."

Somehow Scully managed to doze off with the storm raging,  
curled between Mulder's long, slender legs, his arms locked around her. But when the high-powered beam of an industrial flashlight focused on her face, she was forced back to consciousness. The flashlight was blinding black darkness that cloaked the city. She was so cold that moving was painful, but Scully forced a hand to her face to protect her eyes, and elbowed Mulder. "Company."

"Wat is namen?" the man behind the light demanded. Scully couldn't even make out his silhouette, but his accent wasn't native Dutch.

"Mulder." His voice was beginning to suffer from the cold. He cleared his throat and continued, "And Scully. We're expected."

"American." The man was Australian, and none too pleased; there was almost a snarl in the way he said the word.

"Right."

The beam lowered to the water that rushed past the steps, and Scully was able to make out two long legs between the spots that floated in her vision. "Miss Scully, follow me."

"We're together," Mulder insisted, teeth chattering once again. "We're married now."

The man only grunted. "Follow me."

Traversing the raging waters in the dead of night proved even more difficult for Scully, despite the absence of the quake. She clung to Mulder's hand to keep from being swept away with the various debris that continually slammed into her. The water was up to her middle, and freezing cold.

Ten minutes and two blocks later, a small inflatable boat with a tented tarp became their temporary refuge. The roar of the storm against the cloth roof limited conversation to hand signals which seemed to suit the Australian fine. He made no effort to cover his distaste for them.

The ride in the raft was rocky, but mercifully brief.

Scully couldn't help but notice the possessive hand Mulder kept on her waist; it betrayed his little smiles meant to reassure her that everything was going to be okay.

End of Chapter 2

Journal 1999 - Chapter 3

"...no matter what happens, no matter how bad it gets, there are always survivors. It's the beauty, and the tragedy in human nature"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry November 26, 1999.

October 18, 1999 Maastricht The Netherlands

The bobbing raft quickly left the narrow canals of the city and broke for the open waters of the countryside. Drowned black and white dairy cows became a new hazard to be avoided. They bobbed and rolled in the choppy waters like wooden barrels.

Sporadic lighting silhouetted the dark horizon as they motored to a windmill that seemed to grow out of a rounded hill. Scully was overwhelmed by the scale of the white-washed structure. It towered over them, its enormous arms shook as they turned from the strength of the storm.

It was difficult hauling the inflatable raft from the churning water,  
and by the time they had it tied to a post beside the windmill,  
Scully's arms hung limp and numb from her shoulders. She couldn't tell if she was shivering anymore, she was so cold. Mulder was,  
though. She watched him from the corner of her eye as the Australian led them halfway around the building to a recessed iron door. It seemed dramatically out of place on the old structure.

The Australian pulled a thin black credit card from his hip pocket and inserted the card into a slot. As he waited for something to happen, he didn't bother to conceal his appraisal of Scully. His sharp eyes swept over her from head to foot.

After a series of clicks and the thick suck of an air-tight seal being broken, the door opened to reveal a small wood-lined foyer lit simply by thick candle slabs. There was an armoire with an oversized oval mirror, and in the glass Scully saw a reflection she barely recognized. Her clothes were spoiled beyond repair: torn,  
wet and discolored. The skin on her neck and face was so pale as to be translucent, but marred with angry red, blue and green bruises. Her hair was dark and plastered flat to her skull. She glanced at Mulder. He studied her reaction to her own image.

"Wait in there." The Australian pointed to the door to the right with his chin. Out of the storm, Scully could see for the first time the angular lines of his face, enhanced by the dim light. He had an athletic, muscular built, and tan with sun-bleached blond hair. His dark blue eyes narrowed on Scully. "I'll let them know you're here." She turned away from his continued scrutiny in an attempt to look indifferent. Then he disappeared through the door on the left.

For a moment they stood shaking in the entry hall. Then Mulder pulled her closer and rubbed his hands briskly up and down her arms. "How are you holding up?" His gentle smile evaporated and his gaze fell heavily on her lips.

"I'm fine." The vivid memory of the kiss they'd shared earlier that day left her mouth dry and expectant; a strange sensation to have when so much of her body hurt. But he pulled away from her and turned to the door that the Australian had indicated, and she found herself following.

The waiting room was a classic turn-of-the-Century sitting room,  
complete with a roaring fire under a thick, ornately carved stone mantle. Mulder took a seat on one of the dark leather wing-back chairs near the fire, and motioned for her to join him. Half a second later the door opened behind her, and Scully spun around as the Australian entered, followed by an older gentleman only a little taller than Scully who wore fine quality wool slacks, a tweed vest and smoking jacket. He smoothed his small mustache as he took the seat next to Mulder.

"I'm glad you were able to make it, Miss Scully. The unusual weather left us concerned." The refined man's accent was thickly German. He didn't look at Mulder when he said, "But we understood you were to come alone."

"You understood incorrectly. We're married," Mulder explained calmly. A little too calmly, Scully thought. "I go where she goes."

"Why you would bring her?" asked another man with a thick accent. He appeared in the doorway, and was so tall he had to duck to make it through. Easily a head taller than Mulder, this new man he wore his thin blond hair in a blunt, shoulder-length bob. He pointed to Scully and said: "Not good for so tiny a woman." His words were clumsy and gruff. Nordic, perhaps.

The German seemed amused, but refrained from a response, while the Australian gave a snorting laugh.

The Scandinavian looked doubtfully at the bruises on her face. "Looks half-dead. Like drowned mouse."

Scully's stomach clenched. "Try me," she stated defiantly.

The German smoothed a finger over the greying hair on his upper lip. "Fortunately for us, Miss Scully has already proven her ability in many challenging situations."

"Mrs.," Mulder pointedly corrected.

The small man shrugged apologetically. "Be that as it may, the expedition is full, I'm afraid. There is no room for you, Mr.  
Mulder."

Anger and frustration flared in Mulder's eyes, his jaw clenched and unclenched. "Then you can do without the both of us," he bit out,  
and jumped up from the chair. "Come on, Scully, we're outta here."

The hulking Scandinavian took one step to block their path.

"Please, Mr. Mulder, there's no cause for amateur dramatics." The German disapprovingly shook his head. "Mr. Mulder, we really must get down to business. You may have a minute to say good-bye to your new wife."

"Over my dead body." Mulder leapt towards Scully only to stop short at the sound of the gun cocking. The Australian's aim was trained on her head.

"It is unfortunate that it has come to this," the German continued with a sigh. "Guns are such a vulgar way of exerting power, but effective. Logan knows, as do we all, that you are a risk to what we are trying to accomplish. We cannot afford liabilities. He will shoot to express this point if necessary, starting with Mrs. Mulder."

"Scully," she corrected under her breath. She could see down the gun shaft, and the chamber was full. "I didn't change my name." Her shiver reasserted itself.

The German smiled wryly. "How very 90's of you."

Across the room, Mulder looked as if he might be sick. It twisted her heart to see him in such obvious torment, and it nauseated her that neither of them knew how they were going to get out of this situation. Fatigue and cold clouded her brain, and either the earthquakes had come back, or she was shivering violently.

At that moment, though, the door swung open behind her, and a tall, leggy, and completely drenched brunette sauntered in. She quickly scanned the scene with a critical eye, and, as if she was supremely unimpressed by what she'd found, she dropped into the leather chair by the fire and announced quite casually. "Gil is dead."

"Dead? The man we wait for?" The blond hulk seemed confused by the change in events.

Mulder took advantage of the new distraction to move a few steps closer to Scully.

"Not so fast," Logan replied with deadly conviction. He stepped behind Scully and yanked her to his chest, then pressed the barrel of his pistol painfully into the painful bruise between her shoulder blades. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Dead?" the Scandinavian echoed. "Gil? Renee, fix him."

The woman snorted and shrugged. "Half of his head was gone." French accent, Scully realized. The woman was tall, leggy and French. And beautiful in that pre-Raphelite goddess sort of way. The French woman didn't seem to give Scully a second thought. "The people are all crazy here," the woman continued. "They think the world is coming to an end."

"Isn't it?" Scully asked incredulously.

Renee stretched her arms over her head and sighed heavily. "Not if I have anything to say about it." She shifted her feet closer to the fire. "So, what is the problem here?" She indicated the Australian with a vague wave of her hand. "Why is Logan playing with his gun again?"

"Our pal Mulder, here, decided to come with his girlfriend."

"She's my wife!" Mulder snapped. "And I'm not going anywhere without her!" His face was turning red with frustration and anger.

Renee studied him and then her critical eyes swept over Scully. "No, of course you're not," she said matter-of-factly. "He will take Gil's place."

"What? No!" Logan insisted. "We don't pick up strays! This isn't a damned zoo!" He pointed a bony finger at Mulder. "That man's unreliable. He's a liability. There's a reason he wasn't picked for this mission in the first place"  
For a long moment, the room was silent.

"Are you going to carry Gil's pack, then?" Renee goaded. "Who will carry the supplies that he was responsible for? Or maybe you're willing to give up your share of the rations, Logan?" She gave him a deadly smile.

Logan didn't respond farther than an icy glare.

"Perfect," Renee announced and she pushed herself up from the leather chair. "Now that's decided, I want to shower."

Logan stamped his booted foot on the wood floor. "Nothing has been decided! I'm in charge of this mission --" His protest ceased when Renee held up a hand to silence him.

"It has been an extremely long day, mon ami. I will not argue this with you tonight." She headed to the door. "And besides. There is no one else." She glanced back at the German. "Make him understand this, please." She shut the door behind her.

"I'm afraid she is correct," the German admitted reluctantly after a moment's consideration. "To find someone with the background necessary for this mission now that the First Strike has come would be impossible."

Logan swore and put his gun away. "He'll destroy this mission."

"You don't know me," Mulder insisted, defensively.

"Oh, I know all about you, American."

"That's enough, Logan," the German commanded. The Australian relented, and stormed from the room.

"What means this?" asked the Scandinavian, the confusion on his broad face painfully evident.

"It means," said the German, "that Gil's things should be unpacked,  
and some suitable gear found for Mr. Mulder. But tomorrow. Tomorrow is soon enough. Then we give Mrs. Scully a better idea of what is expected of her."

"No. Just Scully," she muttered. "Or Dana. Call me Dana."

"I am Dag," the Scandinavian said as he lumbered ahead of them,  
an oil lamp in his hand. He led them to a room at the end of a narrow hallway. It was sparsely furnished with two small beds and a night table. It smelled old and musty, but at the moment Scully would take anything that promised warmth.

Mulder was thinking the same thing. "We'll need more blankets"  
he said, his voice wavering as he sneezed.

"I will get," Dag promised. His sincere pale eyes gazed doubtfully over the beds. "Bad for cold." With a grunt of effort, he pushed one bed against the next, then turned to Mulder with a goofy grin. "Good for cold."

"That's exactly what I had in mind," Mulder quipped, and turned to Scully with a playful leer. He yanked the top blanket from one of the beds and draped it heavily over Scully's shoulders. "You okay? Your lips are blue."

"So are yours." Her energy had plummeted after the encounter in the den, and Scully found it hard to keep her eyes open. Too much cold and water, too little food and sleep over the previous couple of days -- make that a week, she corrected mentally.

"Blue lips, it's all the rage." Mulder's eyes glistened in the low light. He drew her closer, kissed her forehead, and wrapped his arms around her. Scully leaned into his embrace, surprised to find his chest wonderfully warm. For a long moment, she stood, her cheek pressed to his sternum where his shirt was already dry until Dag returned with an armful of woolen blankets. She hadn't noticed him leave.

"We should get out of these wet clothes," Mulder murmured into her hair. She nodded, reluctantly. It took so much energy just to stand up, the thought of moving away from his body heat made her whimper.

"Come on," Mulder whispered encouragingly as he stepped away from her. Bereft of his warmth, Scully couldn't keep her teeth from chattering. "You don't look so good, Scully. You're not going to pass out, are you?"

"I don't pass out."

His eyes narrowed on her. "Here. Let me help you." He slipped the blanket from her shoulders and started on the buttons of her blouse. The Scandinavian, red-faced and smirking, closed the door on his way out.

Mulder was gentle as he undressed her, careful not to pull too hard on the buttons of her already ruined suit. His hands, cold and trembling, smoothed over her shoulders, sending the jacket and blouse to crumple at her feet. Scully stood still, watching his expression as inch by inch of her bruised body was revealed.

"Oh, Scully..." She knew the black bruise on the left side of her rib cage would garner a reaction, but she never expected the anguished expression. It made her heart ache for him, her stomach flutter.

He began to unfasten the button at her waist, but in a moment of uneasiness she placed a hand over his to stop him. His eyes lifted to hers, his brows rose in question.

"I'm your husband, Scully. Let me help you."

Her twinge of apprehension wasn't about accepting assistance. It just seemed wrong to have Mulder touch her so much in recent days, and then to suddenly be undressed by him. But the word 'husband' whispered so intimately on his lips shifted the whole room somehow, her whole sense of reality, and what was awkward a moment before suddenly became the most natural thing in the world to her. Without looking away from his shadowy eyes, she released his fingers, and he continued to undress her. His hands slipped down the sides of her hips and legs, dragging panties and pants to the floor. Scully couldn't get over the look on his face, the complete awe that her small battered body inspired in him. And when he unfastened the hook-and-eyes at her back and slid his hands around her sides to ever-so-gently cup her breasts, she thought she might cry from the reverence in his eyes.

The bed sheets were chilled when she first slid between them. Mulder climbed in behind her, and pulled her against the warmth of his bare chest. She pressed into him, snuggled her cold bottom into the crook of his lap. It felt amazing to lay naked with a man again,  
sexual and comfortable at the same time. And warm. Her body responded, despite its pain and fatigue.

As did his.

And this man is my husband, she reminded herself as she relaxed into sleep, too tired to do anything more than spread her legs just enough for his knee to slide between them.

This man I would do anything for, that I adore, this man is my husband. My Mulder.

October 19, 1999.  
Maastricht, The Netherlands

Scully woke to a pounding on the door. Beside her, Mulder stirred,  
the arm he'd flung over her sleeping back lifted leaving a chill. "What?" he croaked. It was still dark in the small room, and even through the thick walls of the windmill, she could tell that the rain outside was coming down as hard as ever.

"Breakfast." It was Renee. "Hurry."

Mulder sat up. The little light on his wrist watch flickered.

"What time is it?" Scully felt like a ton of bricks, and her head was swimming. After her emotional work-out the day before, not to mention her wounds from the previous week, all she wanted was a week of sleep with the wonderful new sensation of Mulder's body snuggled up behind her.

"Six." He yawned as he flopped back into the pillow. "Our internal clocks are still set on DC time. At least mine still is."

He looked at her from his pillow, his face puffy from sleep, and a lazy smile drifted across his lips.

"What?" she asked, her heart racing a little from his hooded look.

One of his fingers traced up her bare thigh, and a chill skittered up her spine.

"Nothing," he whispered. "I'm just relieved that I'm still here. With you."

She felt an overwhelming desire to touch him, then realized with a momentary flash of heat that he was her husband and not the man she worked with anymore. Their relationship had changed profoundly in the past 48 hours. She ran her hand up the firm muscles of his bare shoulder and traced the line of his collar bone.

Without another word, Mulder slowly leaned over her, into her caress, and effectively pinned her between his locked arms. He smelled so...he smelled like a man, warm from sleep. His naked legs brushed hers, and then slipped slowly over them until his knees rested on either sides of her thighs.

In all the times he'd looked at her, gazed deeply into her eyes, she'd never felt so completely rapt; dying for what should come next to finally happen.

Another bang on the door interrupted the moment, and Mulder flopped back against his pillow in frustration. "What?!"

Scully was surprised to find herself panting lightly. He hadn't even kissed her.

"Breakfast. Now." It was Logan's biting voice behind the door this time.

"Fine!" Mulder growled, and then sighed. "Not how you envisioned your honeymoon, huh?" He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead, he kicked the covers back and crawled out of bed. "Christ! The floor's like ice!"

End of Chapter 3   
Journal 1999 - Chapter 4

"...Mulder is the authority on the Colonists in the same way that the Pope is the authority on God. It doesn't necessarily mean he knows more than anyone else...but no one else was willing to wear the pointy hat"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry, October 19, 1999.

October 19, 1999.  
Maastricht, The Netherlands

On her back, bruised legs spread, Scully closed her eyes and tried to think about anything except what was taking place between her thighs. She counted the rough wooden beams that made up the ceiling.

"How long have you been sterile? All your life?"

"No," Scully said through a grunt. "About four years."

"Accident?"

Renee jabbed indelicately and Scully grunted her discomfort. "No."

"Sorry. Illness?"

"What?"

"Are you sterile because of an illness?" Renee's thick accent was French, but her English vocabulary was impeccable.

"No." Scully sucked in a deep breath. "Why does it matter?" Her toes curled around the edge of the wooden table.

"I don't have a complete medical background for you. As your doctor, I need as much data as I can get. But you know that. Cervix looks healthy. So, it was intentional?"

Scully closed her eyes against the cold metal that pressed and scraped inside her. She tried to relax. "I was taken...abducted...by the Colonists"  
She knew Renee was staring at her. Even with her eyes squeezed shut she easily pictured the brunette gaping at her, much like she did when Scully was first laid back naked on the table, clutching a small towel to her chest for modesty. When Renee had taken in the extent of the bruises, she'd insisted on the in-depth pelvic exam to be sure there wasn't any internal bleeding. Scully had adamantly objected, but when Renee pressed on her slightly swollen, bruised lower abdomen the yelp she let out had scared the both of them. There had been more pain than Scully was prepared for.

"I was returned barren, so, no, birth control won't be a problem"  
Scully wet her lips. "Are you finished down there?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, I am." Renee covered her with a blanket and went to the sink in the corner. "You're right. Just bad bruises. There's no internal bleeding. Get dressed." She dried her hands on a folded towel. "You can assume that anything discussed between us falls under privileged information." Renee stared at her with expectant eyes.

"Thank you."

The woman nodded, and turned away.

"Take your time," she finished as she slipped out the door.

Alone in the room, Scully just laid there and breathed for a moment.

The room above was obviously decked out as a training room; pads and mirrors on the walls, mats on the floor, racks of weights and poles clumped in corners. Mulder and Dag stood opposite in combat in the center of the room. Each of them had a long knife drawn, and they circled as if sizing the other up. Only Dag outweighed Mulder by a good hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. Their weapons, Scully noted with relief, had bandaged blades to keep the injuries to a minimum.

Dag took the first swipe at Mulder, which he blocked with the flat of his knife. Then they recovered and continued their circling.

"Attack!" Dag encouraged.

"Yeah, attack him," Logan goaded.

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Mulder dodged a blow that would have sliced through his thigh if they'd been playing for keeps.

"Attack!" Dag demanded, again. "I am Lion! I am hungry! I eat your Scully! Attack!" He leapt at Mulder, missing his head by less than an inch. Mulder's defense was a drop roll that landed him out of the taped playing field. Frustrated, Dag slammed his knife to the mat and threw his hands in the air.

"Why you no attack?! Why you roll away?!" He loomed over Mulder, hands on his hips. "You think dinner will jump on knife for you? You think talk will save your Scully from Lion?"

"He's just a coward," Logan heckled.

Mulder's head jerked to the Australian. "You better smile when you say that."

"Why the bloody hell would I do that? It's not like you're going to do anything, not when you won't even defend 'your Scully'. Maybe she should be my Scully. I mean, thinking about it, you've only been married a week, right? Couldn't be more than two weeks or we would've known about it. Hell, you don't even have her broken in yet! A little thing like that would fit me just fine."

Mulder yanked him up by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the padded wall. "You are out of line," he snarled as he reeled back. Dag was on him the second his fist made contact with Logan's jaw. He pulled Mulder back, keeping his second swing from making contact.

Completely exasperated, Dag gestured wildly at the mess on Logan's face. "For this he attacks!" The huge man threw his arms in the air in defeat. "Good. We find Lion insults your Scully, we give him to you."

Mulder glared hard at Logan. "You do that. I'll strike him down every time."

It had been a long day by the time the German returned with rolls of maps and notebooks under his arms. He lead Scully to the circular kitchen on the third floor of the windmill where the shutters rattled on their hinges from the gusty storm outside. There, surrounded by flickering lamps and candle light, the small man quietly and deftly explained her part in the mission.

"Sandwiched between Austria and Switzerland is the small,  
mountain-locked country of Liechtenstein, and in the southern most point of Liechtenstein is a mountain called Grauspitz. Deep below this mountain, carved out of the granite and limestone is a hidden city. This is your destination." His stubby thumb ran a trail from the red dot of Maastricht that pinpointed where they were, to a small, black, nameless triangle. "There, you will meet with Dr.  
Bohr. He is expecting you."

"Expecting me to do what, exactly?" Scully crossed her arms and wondered exactly how much of this Mulder was privy to. He was sent out with Logan to collect some last minute supplies, and was missing the briefing. At the time, she was nervous about his leaving the windmill, convinced it was a ploy to trick them apart. Divide and conquer. Especially after their earlier encounter in the gym. Now she wondered if maybe it was because he already had this information.

"You carry within you the keys to unlocking the Vaccine."

"The Vaccine? But..." The Vaccine hadn't worked. It had turned out to be northing more than an irritant to the Colonists. "Within me? Where?"

"Your DNA." He watched her for a moment, and then stood and stepped away from the table. "Yes, I realize this is difficult for you to take in all at once, Miss...Dana. But Dr. Bohr feels certain that the difference between the Vaccine being a viable bio-weapon and useless oil lies within your genetic markers."

"Because of what they did to me?"

The German nodded. "And because you've had an early draft of the Vaccine introduced into your system. I don't profess to understand the science of it. I am not a man of science, myself. But I do understand the importance of an effective Vaccine. As we speak,  
the Colonists continue to level our civilization. They flood every continent on this planet, and they will not stop until we are all annihilated."

Scully shook her head and stared back down at the map. She needed more sleep; what he was saying to her was too much to process. "It's in me?" She looked at her left hand, at the veins that played over it, at the knuckles still swollen from being so horribly cold the day before, and at the simple band of gold that encircled her finger. "What if it's not? What if your Dr. Bohr is wrong?"

"That is not a possibility I can contemplate," the German replied. "As I understand the situation..." He hesitated until Scully met his eyes. There was an honesty there she could not ignore. "The people of this planet have little hope for survival without it. Every offensive measure we've taken so far has been met with little results."

"You can't be serious," Scully breathed through a nervous chuckle. "If what's in my cells was the key to defeating the Colonists, I wouldn't been killed for parts long ago "

"Don't be ridiculous," he chided. With his hands clasped behind his back the German began to pace the diameter of the room. "When a person dies, the first thing that goes is cellular integrity. Your DNA must remain intact for it to have any use to Dr. Bohr. But beyond that, he also needs your expertise, your experience that is unique to the work you've been pursing over the last six years. Contrary to what you might think of us, Miss Scully, I assure you we are not in the assassination business. We are here to save lives."

His indignation made her blood boil. She knew who he was, who he worked for. "Explain that to my sister!" She snapped.

He stopped mid-step. "Your sister's death had nothing to do with us." His upper lip twitched. "And I would take care, Miss Scully,  
not to throw accusations around so blithely."

"Mrs.," she insisted.

The German's eyes narrowed. "Yes." He pursed his lips for a moment while he considered her. "I strongly suspect that if you truly believed us behind your sister's murder, you wouldn't be here now." With a smirk of satisfaction, the German settled across from her at the table once more and straightened the maps. "But I do understand. You had to be sure. Had to force the question." His blue eyes lifted to meet hers and he said with absolute sincerity: "I promise you, young lady, that we had nothing to do with any of the ghastly things that befell you or your family."

"Why don't I believe you?"

The German gave good-natured laughed and smacked the table top with the flat of his fist. "Because you are a smart woman. And cautious. I suspect that is what has kept you alive this long."

"And I've had Mulder to watch my back."

His brows pursed in momentary consternation. "Yes, I can see you believe that."

"I know it. You shouldn't under estimate him."

"Oh, I assure you, I don't." He brushed his small mustache down with the side of his index finger. "I am quite aware of what your new husband is capable of." His comment seemed loaded, but the German began to collect the maps before Scully could ask him just what he was alluding to.

"Tomorrow the preparations will be complete, and then the group will start for Grauspitz. We have a boat that will take you to an airfield above the flood line, and then a plane will get the group in as close as possible to the underground city. Then the five of you will be on your own." For an extended moment the German's eyes lingered on her face, and then he turned to the kitchen door and said quietly as he left: "I do hope your Mulder will continue to watch your back. Perhaps it is better that he's going after all. For all of our sakes."  
Scully made it down to the narrow room she and Mulder shared,  
sat on the bed and stared at her clasped hands. So far from home,  
she listened to a rain that was unearthly in its volume and ferociousness. "Forty days and forty nights to wash away man's sins..." Scully shook her head and tried to school her thoughts away from the morbid.

Chilly in the ill-fitting clothes that had been provided her, and her exhaustion renewed, Scully laid her head on the pillow and pulled the edge of the blankets over her. It was arduous to feel constantly askew. At that moment in time, the only thing she was certain of was that she wanted Mulder to hurry up and come back to her.

He showed up an hour later, soaked to the bone, and looking as relieved to see her again as she was to see him. He even threw her a smile, and found herself grinning in return.

"We found some clothes that look like they might fit me," he told her, and indicated the wet plastic bags he tossed against the wall. "It seems that Gil was a much larger man that I am. Much larger." He yanked his shirt off and balled it up before throwing it on top of the discarded bags.

"Uh, that's good," she mumbled, distracted by Mulder's sudden striptease. He didn't even bother to turn around. When he pushed his water-logged jeans down to his ankles, Scully got an eyeful of Mulder's wet, skin-clinging boxer briefs. Apparently he'd already made some very basic assumptions about their new relationship,  
and hadn't bothered to mention them. Or maybe she was being too sensitive. There was a time in a bleach shower that he was more than willing to swap peeks with her...

"Scully?" He sat beside her on the bed, new fresh jeans on, naked to the waist, with a small package in his hand. He gave it to her. "Here."

"What is it?" She weighed it in her hands. It was wrapped in paper and tied with twine.

"It's a journal."

His expression was unreadable, and she wasn't able to gauge how he wanted her to respond. She'd never kept a journal in her life. The closest she'd ever come were the field reports she'd to submit once she started on the X-Files. "A journal? Where did you get this?"

He gave a dismissive shrugged as she fingered the thin twine. The tip of his tongue wetted his bottom lip. It was a nervous gesture,  
one Scully had long ago learned to associate with news she wasn't going to like. "Everyone really has gone crazy out there, Scully. Looting and vandalism are only the tip of the ice berg. They're rounding up anyone American, German or Russian for conspiring with the Colonists." His left hand covered hers on the journal. The quiet softness in his voice made her shiver. "The world's changed,  
Scully, and the next year or so will probably be one of the most interesting and dangerous in human history. Someone's got to get it down."

The way he looked at her, saw her so completely, sent a flood of heat through her chest and up her neck. "And that someone should be me?" She was very aware of his body at that moment, leaning into hers, and the give of the mattress below them.

"You're the most objective person I've ever known, Scully. Who else would give an uncluttered view of what we're living through for tomorrow's history?"

In a way, the journal was one of the best compliments Mulder had ever paid her. Scully found herself smiling. It was an odd sensation. "Thank you," she whispered. A warm tingle swept through her, and Scully found herself staring at Mulder's lush lower lip.

"It's going to be okay, Scully. You know that, don't you?"

"I do. I believe you. I must be insane, but I believe you."

God, I love you, she thought. I must be crazy, but I love you.  
She leaned closer to him, closed the distance between them. Her lips pressed against his, opened, welcomed him in. The heat of his mouth, the play of his tongue against hers, the tiniest of moans that escaped his throat drew her closer. Her fingers smoothed through his hair until her hands met at the base of his neck, and then she pulled him even closer. He leaned to her willingly, his own hands worked their way from her shoulders down to her waist, and then even lower. He squeezed her ass and pulled her against him, and just as her thighs parted across his knee, the knock on the door stilled their kiss.

It was Dag. "Dana," he called, timid. "You learn knife now."

Scully tried to catch her breath as Mulder threw himself back on the bed in frustration. "Unbelievable," he griped. "This is fucking unbelievable."

She shared his sentiment. The last thing in the world she wanted to do at that point in time was to learn to wield a knife from a seven foot Nordic man. "Maybe I could put it off," she suggested, eager to get back to making out with her new husband, but also desperate to keep from creating more bruises on her already battered body. She'd had more than enough hand to hand combat in the past week,  
and she hadn't had a chance to recover from that yet.

"No, Dag's right. It's important." The green in his eyes was mesmerizing. "When I told you about how crazy things are out there, the people...and our guns won't work long with all the water out there."

Dag knocked again. "Dana. You come now."

"I wish," she mumbled to herself. Her legs ached, her back and side hurt, her head reeled, but Mulder would never know any of it. Scully sucked in a deep breath and retrieved the long knife from the dresser that Dag had wrapped in protective tape for her earlier that morning. It seemed pointless for her to learn how to use the knife. Anyone who had physical superiority over her could wrestle it away from her, and anyone who couldn't do that wasn't likely to be a problem. But she ignored her body's protests and her mind's objections and headed for the door. When she left, Mulder was sorting through his new clothes.

When she returned two hours later, he was doing much the same thing. But now her arms and upper back ached more than she ever would've guessed possible. The workout Dag had given her and Renee was enough to exhaust her almost to a point of tears. The last time she'd been forced to the mat, her spine hit the floor hard,  
and the pain it created exceeded her limit. For a while she lay still and breathing, unable to even open her eyes, until the roar in her ears died down enough for Renee's voice to reach her. Finally,  
Scully declared she'd had enough, and Dag whole-heartedly agreed. And then he insisted on walking her to her room.

Scully was able to register Mulder's concern as he led her to the bed, but she couldn't do anything more than answer his questions in monosyllabic grunts. For the second night in a row he helped her undress, and then held her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep.

End of Chapter 4  
Chapter 5 - Journal 1999, NC-17

"I keep having this re-occurring nightmare that I'm Jesus Christ and sitting at my last supper, and it's just me, a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and thirteen empty chairs"  
-Dana Katherine Scully journal entry, December 12, 1999

October 20, 1999 Maastricht The Netherlands

Scully's head throbbed in time with her aching body as she drifted up to consciousness. Her first thought was the she was in the hospital, in a strange bed and in a room that sounded cold and hollow. But when the pounding on the door came again, she remembered the mandatory 6am group breakfast that Logan insisted on.

Her whole body jerked again when the Australian bellowed, "Wake up!" through the wooden door. Beyond that, though, there was no way she was going to make it out of bed. The mattress shifted under her, and she felt Mulder's warmth leave her side. The door clicked open, hushed voices.

Mulder returned to the bed, his skin chilled, and carefully gathered her in his arms. Her head rested on his chest, their legs twined, as he gently smoothed the hair from her face and cheek. "Sleep,  
Scully," he whispered. She did.

When Scully woke again, it was because her bladder commanded it. She slipped from bed, clumsy from sleep and her still-tender injuries.

Mulder stirred almost instantly. "Scully?" His larger hand clasped warmly around her wrist. "What's wrong?" His voice was still heavy and graveled from sleep.

"Nothing," she whispered.

"Come back to bed." The tug on her arm was almost proprietary,  
and it sent a shiver down her spine. "Scully, you're letting the cold in."

"I have to go to the restroom," she muttered, regretting the necessity of leaving him and their warm bed. He released her arm,  
and she fished in the dark for her clothes. Without a window in the room, it was difficult to judge the time. The storm continued to howl on the other side of the curved wall. "Mulder, where are my clothes?"

"On the dresser," he mumbled, already settling back into sleep.

She found them, slipped the jeans and sweater on and hurried out into the hall. The windmill was still and quiet. A dim, grey natural light came from the small circular window in the bathroom just a few doors down. It was hard to see much through it besides the water cascading down the glass. Not that it mattered much.

Scully quickly relieved the pressure of her bladder, washed her hands and face, and then retreated back to the quiet darkness of her room, where she hesitated at the foot of the bed. Should she strip down again and crawl in beside her new husband? What would he think if she didn't? Earlier, he'd made the decision for her, and she'd been too exhausted to do anything else.

God. Why was she so nervous? This man was someone she'd known for years, someone she worked beside, someone who she considered to be her best friend. And she was hardly some giddy school girl. It made no sense that she should second guess herself. Especially at this late date when the only link she had to normalcy,  
to her other existence, was Mulder. Her husband.

She kept coming back to that.

Scully slipped the sweater over her head, and it dropped heavily to the floor.

"I'm warning you, Scully," he said with a smile in his voice. "I do not want your cold feet on my legs again."

Butterflies fluttered in her belly. "No cold feet here." Her jeans hit the floor and she stepped out of them.

He raised the blankets for her, and she slipped underneath. But instead of settling beside him, she crawled over him until her cold legs lined his thighs, her hands smoothed over the downy fuzz on his chest, and her lips found his. Mulder reacted immediately,  
pulled her down on top of him. His mouth seared as it opened to her, his tongue drew hers in, welcomed her to his warmth. So warm. So solid.

As she continued to kiss him, she became aware of just how solid. She reached between them and took a hold of the growing erection that tentatively bobbed against her inner thigh. Mulder gasped, and his fingers clenched her upper arms.

"Be careful with that," he muttered as he breathed heavily against her cheek.

"Oh, I know what I'm doing." And to emphasize this point, she began to stroke him. Slowly. Working him to his full length. Careful not to tease the head too much, wanting him aroused but no where near satisfied. Yet.

The tiny puffs of breath against her neck came faster, more erratic. She laid his erection against his belly, and smoothed her finger tips down its underside, and then captured his tight balls. A gentle squeeze and lift, and Mulder was gasping for air. His hands tightened on her arms again, before slipping down to her sides. When his fingers brushed the left side of her rib cage, though,  
Scully yelped and jerked away from him, cradling her tender side. In the excitement she'd forgotten about the ugly black bruise that was beginning to green along the edges. Apparently, so had Mulder.

"Jesus, Scully, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," he stammered, as if he was afraid that anything more than his words might break her in half.

"'Sokay," she bit out. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was discourage him from touching her. At the moment, though, it was terribly hard for her to breathe through the pain in her torso. Scully was glad for the dark that hid the tears in her eyes.

"Oh, God, I'm really sorry. Tell me what I can do." His hand brushed her arm and she flinched reflexively.

"Nothing. I just need a minute."

The pounding on the door was followed by Logan's pointed dialect. "Change in plans," he called through the door. "Be ready to leave in ten minutes."

"What?" Scully gasped. It came out more like a croak.

"Ten minutes?" Mulder echoed her alarm.

"The weather's shifted. We're heading out now. Down stairs in ten with your packs!"

The bedside light flipped on, much to Scully's chagrin. Mulder's moment of appraisal of her naked form ended with a guilty head shake and another swallowed apology. Without a thought for his own nudity, or semi-erection still bobbing out before him, Mulder tip toed over the freezing floor to the set of drawers on the other side of the narrow room, and began pulling folded clothes out.

They were mostly packed, needing only to dress and stuff their last minute items into their travel back packs. Logan had gone through great pains to show them how clothes, food, and supplies were meant to fit in a roughly one foot by three foot space. Once dressed, Scully tucked the marriage license inside her new navy rice-paper journal, and secure both with a long piece of twine. Then she was ready to go. Mulder helped her lift the fifteen pounds of gear on to her back, but she waited until he turned to sling his own pack on before she allowed herself to wince at the way it pressed against her shoulders and back. Together, they headed down stairs to where the rest of the group had gathered.

They didn't go out the front door they'd arrived through like Scully had expected. Instead, the German lead them single file down a steep wrought iron stair case into a chamber that looked as if it were the inside of a submarine. Space was cramped,  
so much so that with her pack on there wasn't enough room for Scully to turn profile. The rounded ceiling molded smoothly into the metal reinforced walls, and their footsteps made a hollow clinking sound as then slowly made their way down the gentle grade to what looked like a small train platform, complete with an undersized subway car. Only this car didn't run on a track.

"Why do I feel like we're about to take that journey to the center of the Earth," Mulder whispered.

Two sets of doors slid open on the floating craft - Scully couldn't think of any other word to describe it - and the German lifted a hand to usher the group inside. The hair on Scully's neck stood on end. She couldn't help but think that this was some sort of elaborate trap. The vessel didn't look sea worthy; it was a box. A metal box. With flat, rectangular windows, and no discernable aft or bow.

Logan stepped in and coughed. "Ugh! Reconstituted air!"

"Yes," the German said testily. "Please board quickly and hold on to the provided hand rails. You will not be aboard long."

"You not come?" asked Dag, seemingly reluctant to enter the vessel, too.

The German shook his head. "This is where we part company."

Dag nodded, but looked none too pleased. Then he followed Renee on board, and Scully and Mulder followed. The German stood in the door with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. "Twenty minutes to the air field, and then Logan knows what to do." He nodded to the Australian who jerked his chin up in response. "Godspeed."

When he stepped back the doors wiped shut, and the sucking sound of an air-tight seal closing vibrated through the whole craft. Then all was silent for a moment while the group members looked from one uncertain face to another.

Dag's eyes went especially wide, and he turned to Mulder beside him and grumbled, "I swim not."

Mulder simply nodded. No clever quip. Scully took his hand and he squeezed hers tightly. He was scared.

Then the whole vessel lurched forward, or what then became forward, and shot into total darkness. The metal floor between her feet rocked and bucked, and Scully gripped Mulder's arm to keep from flying backwards on top of her pack. He helped to over to one of the chest-high hand rails. Renee and Dag were not so lucky. They ended up slamming on to the unforgiving floor, both of them yelping on impact. Logan shouted over the din of a high powered motor for the two of them to stay down, which made sense to Scully. If they were on the ground there was no where to fall. She crouched low, found the cold metal plating with her palm, and slipped out of the shoulder straps of her pack. Twenty minutes the German had said.

An instant later they emerged from total darkness, and to Scully's horror, they were completely under water. A colorless, murky haze loomed out the oversized windows. Mulder's grip on her arm intensified.

Their speed held steady, or at least it felt like it did to Scully, as the floor began to slant in an upward direction. Quickly, a dancing surface came into view. Then, all at once the vessel broke the surface and righted itself, and pitched them all forward. From then on they traveled with the windows above the rocky waves. Around them, through the sheets of grey rain, the remains of once great stone and cement buildings lay in heaps of rubble, where anything was left at all.

With unerring precision, the vessel navigated around the debris that floated by.

Godspeed.

The painted red and black lettering on the fuselage of the twin propeller plane looked freshly -- and hastily -- applied. Godspeed.

The plane itself was old, weather-worn.

Onboard, soaked from the brief transfer from the odd vessel that had grounded itself 200 yards away to their new easily identifiable mode of transportation, Scully tossed her pack on to one of the upholstered chairs and dropped herself in the one behind it.

Mulder took the seat beside her. "Hey. This time we've got seatbelts."

"What a concept," she said dryly.

Dag seemed infinitely more comfortable with the idea of air travel,  
and he relaxed into a seat across the aisle. Renee sat behind him.

Logan came form the cockpit looking more relaxed, too. He was in his element, in control. "Everything looks to be in good shape here," he told them while his eyes were trained on the storm outside. Scully looked out the window, too. Surely he didn't intend on taking them up with the wind and rain still blowing. Hadn't Logan said something about a break in the weather? Scully wasn't sure. She'd been distracted.

"There are a number of pre-flight checks that I need to make before we take off," Logan said.

"You need help?" Dag offered.

"Naw, big guy,"replied the Australian with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Stay here and dry off. I've got it covered." He ducked into the cockpit alone.

Mulder took the opportunity to recline his seat and stretch his legs out in the aisle. When he turned to Scully with a tired grin, he shot her a defensive look. "What?"

"Getting comfortable, Mulder?"

He leaned against her shoulder and gazed unabashedly into her eyes. "Not as comfortable as I'd like to be." The way he whispered the words in that low gravel made her shiver.

Scully ran a hand through her wet hair, and tried to calm the giddy chill that coursed through her. Or was she shivering again? Maybe a little of both.

"You think we could join the mile high club while we're still on the ground?" He waggled his brows at her and she couldn't help but give in to the infectious grin on his face. What a wonderful experience to see Mulder, this man she'd been in countless perilous situations with, so intently focused on her and so amazingly oblivious to the total devastation of the world around them that he was actually smiling at her. Mulder in love was a breathtaking creature.

"Let's try!" he exclaimed, and jumped up, pulling her with him.

"Mulder, you can't be serious!"

He half dragged her down the short aisle to the tiny compartments in the back of the plane. One was labeled LAVATORY.

"Mulder, tell me you're not serious."

He ignored her hesitation and poked his head in the small closet. "Perfect," he mumbled, and stepped inside, pulling her in after him.

There was no room to stand, no room to move, and with the thin,  
plastic door closed, there was no light. Scully began to ask about light switches, when his mouth closed over hers and effectively sucked all thought from her head. His lips and tongue ignited a thrill of desires in the pit of her stomach that wove their smoky tendrils down and through her pelvis. His long hands smoothed over her shoulders and arms, cupped her cheek and ass, pulled her closer, tugged on her clothing, and carefully avoided her tender bruises. The urgency and passion that he kissed her with took her breath away, and when he finally broke it, he asked, gasping, "You said something about the lights?"

"Lights?"

"You said something about the lights?"

"I did?"

His low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through the very center of her being. She fought to keep her legs from turning completely to jelly. It was hard enough to stand in their cramped compartment without having to fight with gravity. She tried to help him with the buttons of her shirt, but then she realized she hadn't even taken the sweater over it off. Then, in one swoop, Mulder pulled both shirt and sodden sweater over her head. The air was cold. But then the heat of his bare chest met hers, and his blazing mouth returned. He kissed her hard, driving her steadily through a delicious, buzzing arousal.

He went to work at the button and zipper of her jeans, his lips on the base of her neck. His chest was solid under her fingers, and she felt the strong beating of his heart pulsing under his flesh. Lower,  
she let her fingers wander, until they encountered his button fly. The tight space was confining, and it took her several tries to finally undo his jeans and slip them low enough on his legs to get her hands inside his underwear. The flesh there burned her cold hands. He moaned, but she was fairly sure it had more to do with her firm grip than her icy touch.

Finally, he yanked at her jeans, and she stomped them down and stepped out of them. Then he grabbed her hips, and lifted her against his body. The friction was amazing. His mouth clamped over hers. When he whimpered, she lost all touch with reality.

From that moment her world became nothing more than sensations;  
his body under hers, hard and urgent; his mind and soul enveloping her. She moved because he did, experienced a profusion of sensual pleasures knowing he felt them, too. And when Mulder finally pushed inside her aching body, for the first time in her life Scully experienced an instant of perfection.

Oh, she thought, this is what was missing.

They made love furiously that first time, kissing and breathlessly moving together, fingers and mouths spurring each other forward,  
until the inevitable crashed over the two of them and they climaxed with strangled gasps.

Heart and lungs pounding, her breasts smashed against him, Scully enjoyed the humid warmth they'd created together in their little cocoon, and quietly listened to the steady cadence of his calming heart. And noticed for the first time what was absent. The sound of the storm.

"Uh, Mulder...?"

"It's stopped?" he asked quietly, sharing her apprehension. Quickly they cleaned themselves up and dressed - much quicker than Scully ever would've guessed possible - and she pulled her sweater on as they reemerged from the lav. Silence prevailed in the empty cabin. They hurried out the open door to find Dag, Renee and Logan all staring up at the churning, charcoal clouds over head. A break had punctured the complete cloud cover, and streams of golden light poured down from the sky spotlighting the ruined world below.

God-light, Charlie had called it. The memory made Scully smile.

The group was under way within the hour.

The sunset that night above the clouds had a magical quality to it. It felt like they were suspended from invisible tethers, soaring above a dead, colorless world, and below a canopy filled with the most brilliant stars Scully had ever seen. The Milky Way really was a hazy band that stretched like a river across the heavens. With all of the cabin and external lights on the plane extinguished, it was very possible, she realized, that since the invention of electricity no one had ever see the stars like they were able to view them now.

As they flew on into the night, she wondered which one of the specks of light the Colonists called home. And why they wanted hers.

End of Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - Journal 1999

"It's been so long since I've seen the sun.  
felt its warm rays on my face.  
sometimes I wonder if it's lost its will to live, too"  
-Dana Katherine Scully journal entry November 28, 1999

It was dark in the small cabin. The only light came from the low,  
bluish glow from the cockpit and the full moon outside Scully's oval window. The shadows that fell across her sleeping partner's face softened him, made him look calm and vulnerable. His relaxed jaw,  
gently parted lips, the thin sweep of his lashes against his cheeks, all of this seemed to belong to a man utterly at peace. What a wonderful illusion. Scully knew it would be a long, long time before any of them found true peace.

His hand was curled limply around hers, one of his legs protruded into the aisle, the other leaned against hers. His head rested against his tilted seat back, and surrendered easily to the occasional jolts of the plane. Logan had said would take about six or seven hours to get to where they were going, so it was good that he was resting. As Scully understood it, they had a five day hike ahead of them one they landed. The entrance to the mysterious underground city was somewhere halfway up the Grauspitz mountain.

Scully wished she could sleep. She was tired enough and she usually slept well on a post-coital high, but her mind wouldn't stop racing, and her back bothered her.

Mulder's hand jerked a little in his sleep. She lifted it to her lips and placed a small kiss on his knuckles. From the corner of her eye Scully caught Dag watching her, but when she glanced his way, he turned his head and looked out the window.

Dag was a curious one. He seemed almost child-like in his eagerness to make friends with her and Mulder, and yet, there was a distance in him; a heavy wisdom that he carried in his eyes. Or was it just a sadness that she was seeing when he thought no one was looking?

Scully settled back in her reclined seat, and rested her head against Mulder's shoulder. Four hours of quiet left while she could still hold his hand and listen to him breath. And replay their bathroom adventure over and over in her head.

Logan's voice over the loud speaker roused Scully from the edge of a very light doze. "Listen up," he said. There was a tense edge in his tone. "Either the radio's busted, or no one is listening, but I can't raise anyone on any of the channels."

"What does this mean?" Renee called forward while Mulder rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"It means we're in a hell of a lot of trouble, unless they've got out landing strip light up like a Christmas tree and I can see where we're supposed to land from the sky."

Mulder unfastened his safety belt and hurried to the cockpit, Scully was right behind him. "What about out radar?" he asked.

"What radar? This is a G-256. We've got 2 propellers, a toilet and a radio. And the radio doesn't work."

It night outside the windshield was nothing more then a moon and stars, and a vast black nothingness below them. "How high are we? Are we low enough to see city lights?"

"Eh," Logan said with a frustrated sigh. "We're only about 1100 feet up, and we've got the Alps below us, so I don't want to go any lower until we can see something. We've got complete cloud cover below us now."

"How much fuel do we have," Mulder asked, skimming over the overwhelming amount of switches and dials on the plane's dashboard. "Can we keep up here until the sun comes up?"

"I think you're missing the point," Logan snapped, condescension dripping from his words. "If I take us down into the clouds, we're flying blind. No radio means no guide. We wouldn't even see the mountain until we slammed into it."

"Don't tell me what we don't have," Mulder practically growled. "Tell me what we do have. Do we have enough fuel to last us until the sun comes up?"

Logan ripped his eyes from Mulder stare and glanced down at one of the dials. He tapped it with his middle finger. "Just. Maybe another three hours. Maybe four."

"Parachutes," Scully asked, terrified at the idea of leaping out of a plane above the Alps while a rain storm wailed below.

Logan balked at her suggestion. "There's a reason commercial flights don't have parachutes, Doll. It's not as easy as strapping one on and pulling a cord."

"Give us some options, then," Mulder barked.

Logan's own mouth clamped shut, and for a moment Scully thought it was out of spite. But then, she realized he didn't have a solution. Her stomach clenched. Her mind began to break the situation down methodically, it kept panic from setting in. "Logan," she said calmly, "tell us exactly what was supposed to happen."

He closed his eyes in frustration, but went through the sequence with them in excruciating detail, listing a series of instrument readings and navigational directioning that meant little to Scully. "And once we got there - here - I was to send a call out on channel seven and there was supposed to be someone there who would guide us down." And then to demonstrate just that, he picked up the radio receiver and made the call again for their benefit. Only static responded.

"We're supposed to land here?" Renee asked over Scully's shoulder.

"Well," Logan peered out into the night. "Somewhere here. I've been circling at a 40 mile radius for twenty minutes while I tried to get our landing instructions."

"What choice is there?" Renee asked. "We wait for the sun, and then Logan will set us down as gently as he can."

Logan looked like he was going to object, but then thought better of it. "I'll keep trying," he said finally.

For three hours Scully sat beside her husband, holding his hand,  
watching as the sky ever so slowly turned from a velvet black to a dark grey that lightened only to be infused with a thin yellow, then robust orange, and finally the sun sneaked over the horizon. Scully,  
like the rest of their group, had no way of knowing it would be the last sunrise she'd witness for a very long time. She was more interested in the clouds below them, and the storm she knew was raging down there. From their vantage the world looked ash stained. And periodically there was a white flash of lightning.

No one ever responded to Logan's repeated pleas.

He gave them about five minutes warning before he dipped the nose of the plane down and they dived into the ocean of clouds. After that the only thing Scully could see out her window were drops of water streaming over the glass. Her stomach turned inside out and tried to escape out her throat. Fear shot through her veins like liquid lightening. The plane repeatedly made sudden, lurching drops, and its passengers skipped from one air pocket to another as they made their slow, blind decent.

Scully held her breath and closed her eyes. Mulder grabbed her hand and clutched it to the seat's shared arm. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She focused instead on the shaking seat back in front of her.

"Help!" Logan's scream from the cockpit was muted by shaking plane. "I need some help up here!" From her seat, Scully could him struggling with the wheel. She got as far as unclasping her safety belt before Mulder pushed her down into the seat and stepped over her on his way to Logan. But plane lurched again,  
and they both went flying. Scully was lifted up and slammed the back of her head on the metal plated ceiling. She never saw what happened to Mulder.

Darkness is painless. Light, then, by definition must contain pain. When the red and white burning came, Scully tried to retreat away from it. Back to the numb darkness. Back to the nothing.

The light, though, refused to leave her in peace.

She blinked, finding her arms too thick and encumbered to shield her eyes. Her lungs were on fire, her head felt like it had been split in two. Scully could barely make out Mulder's voice, though she was fairly sure it was him that called her name.

Then there was another voice...Renee, maybe? It hurt too much to think about it.

"She's already breathing, Mulder, stop -"

"Then why won't she wake up?" He was yelling, upset.

"She is too cold. We need to get her out of the snow and on to flat ground."

Mulder's voice again: "Logan, did you see a possible camp?"

"Yeah, but it isn't close."

"I will carry -"

"Don't you touch her! You nearly drown her!" Mulder's voice was vehemently biting, and it brought with it a sharp-edged pain that sliced her down the middle. If she could've screamed, she would've let out a shrill that stopped hearts.

"No," Dag protested weakly. "She kick. I pull her out. I help her."

"Scully...Dana...please be OK." He touched her head and it burst into a million sparks of light. When they blinked out, one by one,  
merciful darkness returned.

Cold. Cold. Cold. And then pain. But cold before the pain. Or pain because of the cold. It hurt to cough, to breath, to even think about breathing. At least the light was gone.

"Scully?" Mulder's whisper brought the sensation of her surroundings more into focus. She was cradled against his chest,  
where its familiar warmth left the rest of her body shivering. The snow was still falling, she could hear the rasp of the flakes hitting plastic, but the winds and snow weren't touching her.

"Scully?" he asked quietly again. His words vibrated through his chest."You awake?"

She found her throat unwilling to form coherent sound, but coughed a little in response.

The darkness above her peeled back, and Mulder's concerned face peeked inside her cocoon. She was in his jacket, she realized, with her legs curled around him. Or someone's jacket. Someone's big jacket. She blinked at the defused light, a dismal grey that made her eyes water.

"Yeah," he said to whoever was sitting beside him. "She's focusing. But she's still shivering."

"I can't get the wood to catch fire. Everything is completely soaked through." That unmistakable Australian voice was Logan's. "I put some in the other tent to dry, but it may take a few days before it'll burn."

Mulder turned back to Scully and gave her a weak smile. "Blue lips, it's all the rage." He pressed a dry kiss to her forehead. Scully turned her cheek into the heat of his chest. The jacket closed over her head, and once again she was swaddled in darkness.

"Scully...Scully, come on...Dana, I need you to wake up now." Mulder's voice was raw in her ear. "Scully...you've been asleep for too long. Please..."

Slowly, Scully came to realize that he was gently shaking her.

"Scully, I know you're tired and cold. But you have to wake up. Renee says you need water. She says that if you get any more dehydrated your fever will never go down. Please, Scully. Wake up. For me..."

She blinked twice, but the ache in her eyes made her close them again.

"There's the woman I love," he whispered.

She tried to turn the corners of her mouth into a smile, but it set off a chain of coughs that quickly degenerated into painful spasms. She rolled from Mulder and landed with her nose against the tent's plastic floor just as she gagged and then vomited bile. It took a few breaths to calm her stomach before she ventured to do anything as daring as sit up. It was easier to slump over on to her side and not move. There was an ache in her lungs, and thick, raspy sound when she exhaled that didn't feel too pleasant, either.

"Dana." Renee was suddenly beside her, hand rubbing soothingly between Scully's shoulder blades. Scully didn't want to be touched. It hurt. "You took water into your lungs two days ago. I think you have contracted pneumonia."

Judging from how lousy she felt, that sounded about right to Scully. She nodded weakly and coughed. And then tried very hard not to cough again. Below her, the lumpy ground only aggravated every ache. Where were they? What had they just been talking about? "Two days?" Her throat was raw and swollen. "Water?"

"At first we thought Logan's calculations were wrong, and we'd somehow made it over the Atlantic, but the water we crash-landed in was fresh water. The biggest damn lake you ever saw, Scully. We barely got you and the packs out before the whole plane went under." There were dark circles under Mulder's eyes, like he hadn't slept. "But we got you out, Scully. Everything's going to be okay."

"Eat this." Renee had some snow cupped in her hands. She urged it on Scully. "You need water, yes?"

The snow helped to numb the soreness in her throat, but brought on a chill that started a shiver in her back, shoulders and chest. Two swallows was all she was able to get down before another series of coughs threatened to turn her lungs inside out. She pulled her legs up underneath her chest to brace herself, and Mulder laid the jacket over her again, and then covered it with a scratchy brown blanket. Once she was bundled up, he awkwardly lifted her and pulled her half on to his lap. He was warmer and softer than the ground.

It took her a moment or two to realized that she was already wearing the lined coat that had been with her provisions, and when she did, she tried to squirm out of the navy coat. "No," she protested, "Wear your jacket, Mulder. You'll get sick, too."

"It's Dag's." His fussed with the sleeves, tucked them beneath her,  
and readjusted the blanket to cocoon her in again. "He gave it to you. The blankets weren't keeping you warm enough, and we thought if there was extra insulation..." Was he deliberately avoiding her eyes?

"Mulder? Where's Dag?"

He glanced at Renee before answering. "Resting. In the other tent,  
which is what you should be doing. Once Logan figures out where the hell he dropped us, we're going to have to hike out of here, and you're going to need your strength." He offered her a reassuring smile, and Scully saw for the first time the angry red flush in his puffy cheeks. She reached out a cold, stiff hand to touch his face.

"You have a fever, too."

"We all do," Renee informed her. "We lost too much body heat in the water. But you concern me, Dana. Pneumonia requires penicillin. I have none to give you."

"I'll be all right," Scully said and looked up at her husband. "Right? Everything's going to be okay?"

"Right. Everything's going to be fine."

"Well," said Renee, with both humor and frustration in her voice.  
"I'm glad that's been decided. I think I'll check on Dag." She crawled out of the tent and zipped up the flaps behind her.

Scully relaxed in Mulder's arms, and watched his caring face as he rhythmically brushed the hair from her forehead. "You know, your faith in me scares me sometimes, Scully."

His eyes met hers, and she gazed into their depths."It scares me,  
too. Sometimes."

He held her until she fell asleep. And then for hours afterwards.

But all too soon the gentle dark melted into a grey landscape that slowly faded into focus. It was an alien world that surrounded her,  
a place she'd never been before.

The snow fell steadily, but at last the wind had died away. Scully stood alone, her feet frozen in the sheet of ice that stretched out to the deep grey of the colorless sunset. There was nothing between her and the horizon; just a flat span of white and cold. She didn't know where her clothes had gone, at some point before they'd simply dissolved. It didn't matter. They hadn't been her clothes,  
anyway. Nothing was hers anymore. She had nothing left at all.

Not even Mulder. Which felt wrong. Where was Mulder?

The ice engulfing her feet began to flow up, surrounding her ankles,  
crawling up her legs. It turned the flesh beneath it the same dusky grey as the sky. Inch by inch the ice crept up her body, over her knees, wrapping around her thighs, encasing her hips like a skin-  
tight casket. The ice was alive, transparent, contorting, eating her whole.

Her hands were captured at the same time her abdomen was.  
Slowly her ribs and breasts were encased, and breathing became nearly impossible; short, shallow gasps were all she was allowed. She looked back out at the alien horizon, not even able to find comfort in something familiar. She didn't know this land, this emptiness. Nothingness.

She called out just as the ice encased her head, taking from her the last of herself. So, as her frozen gaze looked on over a distorted view of forever, her voice echoed over the dead landscape:

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUULDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Eventually, even the sound of her voice died away. And it was then that she realized that the ice had taken everything from her, even death.

End of Chapter 6

Journal 1999 - Chapter 7

"...and sometimes life slams you head first into a brick wall.  
repeatedly...without malice, but without remorse.  
and the only way to stop the pain is to cut off your head"  
-Dana Katherine Scully journal entry, December 1, 1999

October 27, 1999

And then slowly, with the gradual grace of a sun rising, the sky transformed from the dull, dark grey to a brilliant red. The flat plain between Scully and the inevitable horizon glowed a blinding crimson. And just as slowly, dark patches of green broke the smooth surface of the ground.  
Her alien world woke.  
Tiny rivulets ran down over Scully as her ice prison began to melt away. The sun, hot and oppressive, forced the ice to retreat. With no clouds to provide relief, no trees to shade the sun's baking heat,  
her flesh began to dry and crack and burn. Her feet, free from the ice, were planted solidly in the searing soil; anchoring her down,  
rooting her to the land. Even if she could run there was no where to go. No reason to go there. Not when she was alone. Not without Mulder.  
So she raised her blistered arms to the killing sun and accepted the fiery death it offered.

"Scully...Scully, wake up..." A gentle brush against her forehead shocked her world from a vapory mist into the harsh line of reality. She didn't know how long she'd been lying with her eyes opened,  
but they hurt, like she had sand under her lids.

"No," she gurgled, and pushed at the cold hands that were trying to force her to sit up. She needed to sleep. Sleep was good. It was too hot to do anything else. If she moved, she might burn up. Or her chest might implode. It felt as if she had a vise pressing down on her rib cage.

"Come on, Scully. I need you to drink something for me. A little water."

"I can't..." Her head lolled to one side as he lifted her shoulders. The room around her swirled and tilted, and darkness threatened at the edges of her vision. "Mulder..."

"I know, Scully." His voice was soft and soothing. "But you're getting too dehydrated. Yesterday you didn't drink anything at all. Renee says you're getting worse, not better. I need you better,  
Scully."

Something hard was placed against her mouth, and Scully licked unenthusiastically at the moisture that pooled between her lips. Those few drops awakened her thirst and she soon found herself gulping down the whole cup.

"Easy. We want you to keep it down." Mulder eased the water from her and brushed the unkempt hair from her face. "So what were you dreaming about, Scully? You've been out for almost ten hours this time."

"This time?" she croaked. Her throat was raw and painful.

"Yeah, you've been kinda in and out since we got you here."

She ventured a glance at her surroundings, and realized that the tent was gone, and a solid structure was in its place. And while the storm continued outside, it seemed farther away, less violent.  
"Here? Where?"

"Well, we're not sure what village this is supposed to be..."

The walls of the small room were an uneven off-white, the small window was covered by a heavy green curtain that swept the floor,  
and against the wall opposite the foot of the oversized bed, a small,  
dainty vanity held a glass pitcher of water. A wood fire burned somewhere near by, she could smell the wood burning and hear the crackles as it did.

"Whose home is this?" Scully asked.

"We don't know," Mulder said slowly, studying her eyes. "We found three cottages on this road, with no one home. I told you about this when we got here. You don't remember?"

"No."

He leaned a little closer. "Do you remember coming here at all?"

Scully closed her eyes. They still ached. So did her back, her legs,  
her head - oh, God, her head hurt. "The last thing I remember is on the plane." She swallowed. "The turbulence."

Mulder's brows lowered, and he nodded, but he didn't tell her what he was thinking. "Well," he said at last, "that was five days ago. You were unconscious when we finally landed, and it took both Logan and myself to get us down without splitting the plane in half. Dag got you out. He really can't swim. By the time we got the two of you to shore, you'd nearly drowned." He bit his lip, and then took her hand, but looked up at the wood slats on the ceiling as he changed the subject. "There was a fully stocked medicine cabinet here, thank God, and Renee says you'll be good as new if we can keep you hydrated." And that seemed to remind him that she'd only downed one cup of water, and he got up to get her another.

"Where's everyone else? Dag and Renee?"

"Dag and Logan went scouting. We take turns trying to figure out where we are. There was nothing in this cabin that indicated location, beyond a couple of French romance novels. We're kind hoping for a big map with a You Are Here dot." He settled himself on the edge of the bed, his thigh solid against hers. The water he handed her was cold. "We're certainly in the Alps; there's no disguising the mountains, even if the peaks are lost in the clouds,  
and the snow is coming down so hard visibility is nearly zero. But the Alps, even the French Alps, cover a tremendous amount of area." And then he added a playful, "Who knew?" with a half grin on his face and a little shrug.

Scully sipped at the water until her arms shook with the effort of simply holding the ceramic mug to her lips. The degree of her physical weakness spoke of just how sick she'd been.

Mulder took the cup from her and helped her finish the last of the water. When he released the back of her head, and she sank blissfully into the pillow, she watched him as he lifted the blankets to her chin and tucked them around her shoulders. Then he leaned over her and placed a small kiss on her temple. "You really had me scared. You know that?" He pulled the covers up to her chin and smoothed them over her shoulders. "Sleep now, Scully."

"Don't leave," she eked out.

He gave her a lopsided smile and shook his head. "I'll be here when you wake up."

October 31, 1999 Abandoned cottage Somewhere in the Alps

For four days solid, Scully slept, drank water, and ate a little of the broth that Dag prepared from the rations they'd packed for their mission, and what little they found while scouting, while the rest of them went out into the blizzard to try and figure out where in hell they were. Scully could hear them argue in the other room,  
through the thin wood door when they thought she was asleep. She listened to Logan's growing frustration and pointed tongue, to Mulder's shortening fuse, and to Renee's rare interjection of civility and reason. Morale was running low.

Once Mulder and Renee had gone scouting again, and Logan announced he was going out to collect more firewood, Scully heard Dag's hesitant footsteps on the floorboards outside her tiny room.  
The door was cracked open, and he peeked in. His clear, pale blue eyes met her's questioning.

"I'm not asleep," she told him. "You can come in."

He slipped inside, with a pensive look on his red, wind-burned face,  
and then buried his fists in his trouser pockets. His clothes seemed looser, his frame leaner and less muscular. His intelligent eyes flashed to Scully and then away again, and he shifted on his feet.

"Is there something you want to ask me, Dag?"

He took a moment to collect the words. "You sick because of me."

Scully frowned, and sat up a little in the bed. "What?"

Dag looked down at his socked feet and wiggled his toes. "Mulder say you sick because I swim not." The guilt he wore slumped his shoulders forward.

"No," Scully shook her head. "I'm alive because you saved me,  
Dag."

"Mulder say," he insisted.

"I know. Mulder says a lot of things when he's upset. But Dag,  
you saved my life, and Mulder knows that. He told me that you got me out of the plane when it was sinking. I would've drowned if you hadn't."

"He say that?"

"He did."

Dag's face lightened, and he inhaled deeply, and then gave a little cough to clear his throat. He didn't make a move to leave, though,  
and Scully wondered if there was something else he wanted to say. After a few awkward moments, though, she had to say something. "Where did you learn English, Dag?"

"Tapes," he said after a moment. "One month."

"You've only been speaking English for a month?"

He nodded. "Hard to find teacher in Norway."

"Is that where you're from?"

He nodded. "Father there. Great fisherman. Taught me to use knife." His hand went to the decorative hilt at his belt. "Old man now," he continued. "Tired. Sad." Then Dag shook his head and turned to the door.

She watched him linger in the door for a moment but then he left,  
and closed it behind himself.  
Mulder was getting good at giving sponge baths. When Renee had first showed him how to lift her limbs at a certain angle to get "all the little crevasses," Scully had been too weak to worry about dignity, but now that her fever had dropped almost completely, it was hard not to make it an issue. Scully had always been self-  
sufficient, and not being able to bathe and dress herself was hard for her to accept. And even though Mulder made it clear that he enjoyed the private time they had together, she couldn't help the feeling of helplessness.

His finger brushed the underside of her chin, and raised her head just enough for her to meet his eyes. For a long moment, he gazed into her, seeing the discomfort she was trying so hard to suppress. Then he turned back to where he'd left off on her forearm.

"Relax, Scully," he coaxed, as the tips of his fingers skirted her flesh an instant after the soapy cloth. "It doesn't seem right that I should be enjoying this more than you."

"You're not the one laying naked while someone rubs you down."

"I should be so lucky," he quipped. "And I'm not just any Tom,  
Dick, or Logan off the streets, Scully. I'm trying not to be hurt." The amusement in his eyes told her he was far from wounded.

She shook her head, ignored the slight dizziness that followed, and made a grab for the cloth. "I can do it, Mulder. I'm feeling better."

He raised the wet rag out of her reach. "Maybe I want to do this. Maybe I don't get to spend enough time with my wife while she's conscious." He leaned closer to her, and his voice dropped half an octave. "You are my wife, now, and I expect you to let me take care of you when I need to. So, I can feel I'm fulfilling my husbandly duties. Remember that sickness and in health bit?"

Scully raised her brows at him. "I don't recall the judge saying that particular line, or mentioning this particular husbandly duty."

A wonderful smile spread across his face. "I didn't think you were paying attention."

"Oh, I'm always paying attention, Mulder. For instance, your left hand moving up the inside of my thigh."

"Maybe I have a vested interest in the condition of his leg." He looked down to his own hand as his fingers working their way up the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Goose bumps rose as a shiver worked its way down her spine. His hand stopped short, and he glanced up into her eyes, and smiled when he found her breathing faster.

"You're so beautiful, Scully. I can't believe I spent so much time trying to pretend you're not." He brought the washcloth down on her shoulder and smoothed it over the underside of her left arm. "I tried so hard not to be in love with you. I can't even begin to explain why."

Scully smiled. She knew exactly why. It was the same reason she didn't want to be in love with the infuriating, brilliant, destructive man beside her. "I've been telling you why all along. It's because you're crazy, Mulder."

He chuckled, and lifted her knuckles to his lips. "That, I must be."

I must be crazy with you, she thought, because I love you, too.

Just then, the outer door to the cottage slammed open and the sound of the storm roared in. "We've got it!" Logan shouted. "We know where we are!"

Mulder dropped the rag in the ceramic basin by the bed and helped Scully cover herself with the blanket. Then he went into the other room. "Where are we?" Through the open door Scully could see Logan and Renee stripping off their layers of snow covered clothes. They looked freezing.

"We're in Switzerland," she told him. West Switzerland near the French boarder."

"We crashed in Lake Geneva," Logan took over the explanation. "We found the remains of a ski lodge farther up on the mountain. This whole area used to be a resort, but it looks like the lake swelled and swallowed almost everything up."

Scully bundled the blanket around her and slipped out of the bed. Her legs were weak, but her knees didn't buckle, and she was able to hobble to the door.

"So, how far off course are we?" Mulder asked.

Logan's eyes narrowed, looking for an insult. "About 160 miles."

"Christ!" Mulder swore under his breath. "That's 160 mountain miles. How the hell are we going to cross that?"

"What is mountain mile?" Dag asked.

"We can't just go straight across," Mulder explained, slicing his hand through the air in front of him. "There are mountains in the way that we have to go around. It might as well be 1600 miles."

"There was no way for me to know that! They gave me nothing to work with." Logan insisted. His arms tensed, ready for a battle.

Renee shook her head. "We have another problem." She waited until she had their attention before saying, "If Lake Geneva has swallowed the whole valley, then we can assume that many of the other valleys are flooded as well."

"So, we need a boat," Scully said, following Renee's logic.

The whole room turned to look at her, aware for the first time that she was there.

"And a map of Switzerland," Renee said after a moment, with a smile on her face. "It's nice to have you back, Dana."

"Where the hell are we going to get a boat," Logan gripped. "We're in the mountains, for crying out loud!"

"We're at a lakeside resort," Renee reminded him.

"Actually, we're on a mountain near where a lakeside resort used to be," Mulder said, almost to himself. Scully could see the wheels turning behind his intense stare. He sucked on his lower lip.

"Before we do anything, we eat," Renee announced.

There was no argument, and as she and Logan hung their wet clothes up to dry, Dag started to reheat the vegetable stew and stale bread that they'd been eating on for a couple of days. It was the last of the bread and potatoes in their rations, and he'd added several more pints of water to make the stew last.

Scully dressed while the meal was heating, in clothes that had been washed and hung out to dry for her. They were warm from being so near the fireplace, and smelled of wood smoke.

After dinner, the plan was set. For the remaining few hours of sunlight, as dim as it was, Mulder and Dag would make a systematic search for anything that might qualify as a boat. They would start at the remains of the skiing lodge that Logan and Renee found that day, hoping that a tourist attraction might have a layout of the area, giving them a better idea of where to search, and also hoping to find a large topographical map of the country.

Logan was allowed to sleep, as exhausted as he was, and Renee was left to take care of the dinner dishes. They managed to finish the stew, so there was no need to fuss about leftovers.

Scully sat that the roughly carved table, hands curled around a warm cup of water, sipped occasionally, and tried not to be cold. Part of her was tempted to crawl back into the wide bed in the other room, but if she was going to gain back any stamina, she needed to spend a couple of hours vertical. Then, when Mulder got back, she might spend a night horizontal with him.

It really wasn't fair that they'd given her the single bed in the cottage. Mulder had explained that they'd found two other small houses with beds nearby, but the amount of wood it took to keep a large enough fire in the hearth to warm the whole cottage was considerable, and they wouldn't be able to keep three fires going at once. So, they'd made sleeping pallets out of the blankets and stolen bedding from the other houses, and let Scully sleep, oblivious and comfortable in the bed. Scully wondered how much of that favoritism had to do with what she was carrying around inside her DNA, and how much had to do with her overprotective husband.

"You're thinking about him, no?" Renee turned to her and leaned against the sink, toweling off her hands. The design in her deep brown sweater complimented the solid weight of her bust, and slope of her hips. With her classic beauty, she could have been a fashion model, except for the fact that she was shaped like a woman.

"Who?"

"Mulder." Renee took the seat opposite Scully at the table. "I see the look in your eyes, when you think of him. Makes me miss my Philippe." She smiled at some inward memory and leaned across the table to take Scully's hand. The gesture seemed casual enough,  
everything that Renee did was casual. But for Scully, the reaching out for physical contact was shockingly intimate. Scully wasn't a hugger, and never had been, but Renee didn't seem to notice her unease.

"You know, I have seen him with that same look." She sighed and squeezed her hand. "I am glad you are here. For him, and for you. Love should never be divided."

"Is that what happened to you and Philippe?"

Renee looked startled for a second and then burst into laughter. It was the first time that Scully had heard her laugh. "Oh, no. No. Philippe was my poodle. He had the saddest eyes...broke my heart to look at him sometimes."

Scully blinked. "I remind you of your dog?" She was less than thrilled.

"It's a compliment. Not many people truly understand unconditional devotion." Renee stood and tossed the dishtowel over one of the cabinet doors to dry, and shook her head in disgust. "English is too limited in the concept of love. One tiny word for all those different feelings."

For a moment, Renee contemplated the damp towel. Then she added quietly, "You know, I loved that dog."

End of Chapter 7

Journal 1999 - Chapter 8

"...in the end, though, because I loved him so much, I think I burned only to throw more light into Mulder's brilliance. I allowed myself to be swallowed by his all-consuming quest...my beliefs, my moral structure were both sacrificed so that his might survive,  
thrive, grow. I believed in God, he in aliens. We all know which one of us was proven right"  
- Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry, November 5, 1999

November 3, 1999 A valley in Western Switzerland

"My God," Scully gasped under her breath. "Does it float?"

"Better than you," Logan snapped as he yanked her pack from her shoulder and tossed it in the back of the tin raft. And in truth, it was little more than that. Dag and Mulder had spent the better part of two days securing one of their two tents to the pontoon to give the group a waterproof shelter from the storm, and also to add an extra layer of insulation between the cold metal and their bodies. The result was a make-shift canoe that looked as if it would be difficult to escape if it capsized.

Mulder came up behind her with a bundle of bedding in his arms. "Scully, we want you towards the back with the packs, since you won't be able to paddle." He nodded for her to climb aboard, and she reluctantly did.

"Towards the back" was a difference of maybe two feet. Logan had evenly disbursed the weight of their supplies, leaving two of the biggest packs at the tail end of the oversized canoe. Aside from the main flap at the front, there were "windows" cut into the sides of the tents, and one at the rear, and a slit on either side that she could only guess were meant as holes for the oars.

Mulder helped her settle on the last rung, using blankets and pillows to make a nest around her.

"Logan and I are going to start out paddling," he explained as he tucked a second blanket around her legs. "Renee will be at the front as lookout and captain, so Dag's going to be resting back here with you. He'll help keep you warm."

"Don't worry, Mulder, I'm fine."

He pulled her hood down farther over her forehead. "I am worried. The rest of us are going to be moving and creating body heat, but you'll -"

"I'll be just fine. And soon I'll be able to help with the rowing, too." Her cough was getting better, and her stamina grew every day. But somehow the healthier she got, the more Mulder tried to coddle her, and of course the amount of coddling she was able to take decreased exponentially as she felt better.

The boat rocked, and Dag poked his head inside the tent flap. He analyzed the small space with a look of trepidation. He took his seat, though, and Logan and Renee pushed the small craft out on to the water. It floated.

The storm beat against the sturdy plastic, creating a tremendous amount of noise, and above that Renee shouted commands to Logan and Mulder to get the boat turned away from the shore.

Soon, Mulder and Logan broke into an easy rowing rhythm.

Every hour or so they rotated the rowing duties. But the scenery barely changed from Scully's point of view. Out the tiny window,  
when she bothered to look, there was nothing but white and grey snow slanting past, and every so often the shadow of trees or a mountain in the distance.

That first day it was slow going. When what little daylight they had finally faded away, Mulder lead them to shore, and they made camp. Logan found a little alcove in the forest about twenty feet up the a slope from the water that he deemed level enough for their raft and tent. The evergreens there gave the added bonus of a small windbreak, but even so, what little dead wood they found was too wet to burn. Dinner consisted of cold dried noodle soup. They ate it because it was nutrition, and because it quieted their growling stomachs.

When their sparse meal was done, and the bowls were rubbed clean with snow, and Mulder retreated into the raft/tent for the night and adjusted the blankets into a semblance of a bed. Then, he stripped off his overcoat and two of the sweaters he'd worn that day, tried to make his lanky body fit in the tight space. Scully shrugged out of her coat and joined him.

Snuggled under layers of blankets, sleeping bags, her coat over their feet and his over their shoulders, and their arms tightly hugging one another, Scully was able to relax. It wasn't until then that she realized how tired she was. It took a lot of energy to be so cold. She coughed a little to clear her lungs, and then they pulled the blankets over their heads.

It was dark in their cocoon, and safe. His heartbeat dominated her hearing, louder even than the buffeted tent around them. The steady, strong rhythm was comforting. His body was warm.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and when she lifted her head to him, his mouth closed over hers. The tenderness in his lips and tongue comforted, reassured.

His palm cupped her cheek. His breath on her lips was warm and moist. "How was your day, Mrs. Mulder?" he asked in a low,  
playful voice. She felt him smile against her lips, his stubble scratched her chapped face.

"Oh, you know, Mr. Scully," she mumbled vaguely and then returned to sucking on his lower lip.

One of his hands skimmed down to her hip, and he caressed her there through her jeans. "Oh, I know," he echoed. And then added between tiny kisses, "Shopping at that little boutique where you get all your best lingerie, and then a trip to that bath store that sells that shower gel that makes you smell so good..."

Scully scoffed. "Lingerie, Mulder?"

"And then you picked up a quart of milk to finish off that delicious dinner you had planned for me."

"Oh? I'm making you dinner?"

"You would make me dinner, wouldn't you, Scully?" He ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of hers. "If I asked nicely."

"Mulder," she gasped, finding it hard to catch her breath, "you never ask nicely."

"Pretty. Please." He emphasized each word with a nip on the side of her neck.

"Oh, Jesus, Mulder. You'd better stop that. There's not enough room in here to finish what I think you're trying to start."

"I know," he muttered against her pulse. "I know." Then he kissed his way back to her lips. One of his knees slid between hers. "I just want you to be warm enough."

In the distance, muffled by layers of bedding and warmth, over the fumbling of Mulder's hands and the small sucking sounds he made as he kissed her, through the falling snow and howling wind that rattled the plastic of the tent that protected them, Scully heard a sound. It started low and grumbling, almost inaudible. Then in a matter of seconds it was directly over them, blasting and grinding,  
so loud it made her chest and lung hurt. Mulder threw back the blankets. The cold air wasn't so shocking as the brilliant white light that enveloped their raft/tent.

Mulder held her forcefully against his chest and yelled at the top of his lungs to Logan, "Don't move! Don't leave your tent!"

Instantly sound and light vanished.

The silence that followed was filled with the ruffle of the plastic tent as the wind once again beat against it, and the natural sound of the storm outside. Not a true silence, but after the blast to her senses,  
Scully's ears began to ring.

"You okay?" he demanded. The night that once again covered them hid his face from her, but if she could see him, she was sure panic would be in his eyes.

"Fine." She swallowed and realizing she'd been holding her breath,  
coughed a little.

"Logan!" Mulder called out.

"What the hell was that?!"

Mulder ignored his fear. "Logan, are Dag and Renee there with you?"

"Of course." And then, "Holy shit! That was them?!"

"They know we're here," Scully said slowly, as she came to grips with the enormity of what had just happened to them.

"Stay put," Mulder he called to the other tent. "If it comes again,  
stay inside. I think the snow is protecting us. If they can't read our body heat, they may not be able to see us."

"But Mulder, how did they know we were here at all?" Scully reached out and grabbed his upper arms. "They pinpointed us."

"But they didn't get us -"

"They know we're here," she insisted. They were tracking the group, like a pack of wild dogs in the desert. And as long as one of them had the tag, they would always know how to find them. Her right hand left Mulder and her fingers smoothed over the scar at the base of her neck. "They know I'm here, Mulder."

"They don't know anything, Scully. They left because they didn't find anything."

"They know." The temperature inside their tent was well below freezing, but her fear was colder. Scully began to shiver.

"Hey," Mulder cooed, and pulled her against him. "We're okay,  
Scully. Everything's okay."

But she knew it wasn't. As much as she wanted to believe him, that was how much she knew in her bones that the Colonists had found them through her, and that they would be back.

The rest of the night seemed to drag endlessly on, but when the sun did finally rise in the form of a diluted grey light, they crawled from their tents, ate a light breakfast of dried fruit and water, and broke camp. No one mentioned what had happened to them the night before, but Scully knew they were all thinking about it.

November 4, 1999

The day that followed was more of the same: rowing, snow, wind,  
waves.

At one point while they were rowing in tandem, Dag turned to Mulder and said very simply, "Food." Mulder met his eyes, and Scully wasn't able to see what transpired between them, but Mulder announced that they were all going to take a break and eat a little something. Rations were incredibly low, but they nibbled on dried apples, a handful of crackers, and some nuts, and then each of them drank their portion of the day's water allowance.

By the time evening drained their daylight, they'd only gained a couple of miles headway according to the map that they were working off of. Of course, if the map was wrong, or if their assumed location was in error... Scully refused to think about it. It was out of her control. She'd studied the map Logan had found,  
and agree with their probable location, and the hypothetical alterations to the geography of the country because of the storm. If they were off course, they were all off course together.

Which was something that Scully was growing more and more uneasy about. If the Colonists were tracking her through the implant at the base of her neck, then she was putting all five of them in danger. And if they did, by some miracle, make it to the Resistance's underground city, then she'd be leading their enemy right to it. Everyone saw what was inside her as a miracle cure, but in truth it could very possibly be the poison that killed them all.

That night, as the hours crept by, Scully played with the idea of leaving the group. Wrapped in the warmth of Mulder's arms it was easy to think brave thoughts. If she stole away while the others were sleeping, she might get a couple hours head start before they discovered her missing. Logic would dictate that since they'd have no idea in what direction she'd set out on, they would have to continue forward to the underground city. But Mulder rarely followed conventional logic. He would never leave her to the certain fate the storm would seal for her. And she could never hurt him like that. He'd left her behind several times, and each was like a burning betrayal. He would never know that kind of pain from her.

That only left her one option. And she had to act before she lost her nerve.

Mulder jerked awake when she pulled herself from his embrace, but settled back down when she whispered that she just needed to go to the bathroom. On her way out of the tent, she pulled from her pack the knife that Dag taught her to wield, and then slipped it in the pocket of her parka. She stomped her boots on, but didn't bother to do up the laces. What she had to do wouldn't take long.

The wind and snow was an abrasive to her dry, chapped cheeks,  
and as she knelt down in the snow she had to force herself to loosen the hood away from her neck. The wind and snow swept her hair out of the way for her. By the time she pulled out the knife, and she found the tiny scar on the back of her neck with her numbing fingers, Scully was shivering so much she couldn't keep her jaw closed. It didn't have to be a deep cut, the metal chip was just beneath the skin. Not too much blood, she told herself, and with the cold, barely any pain.

She hesitated. And in that moment, she lost her nerve.

Tears welled up under her closed lids, and snow collected in the back of her open coat. Humiliated to find herself weak at a moment when the group's survival depended on her strength, Scully returned back to the tent. She couldn't bring herself to lay with Mulder again when she felt so overwhelmingly she'd let him down.

"Scully, come here," he whimpered. "It's cold."

"Mulder, you have to cut the implant out."

She hear him sit up. "What?"

"I tried, but I couldn't do it."

"What!?" He lurched towards her in the dark, and his sudden movement rocked the raft a little. "Did you...are you okay? What did you do, Scully?"

"Nothing." It was heartbreaking to have to admit it to him. That she had tried, that she knew it had to be done, but that she couldn't bring herself to actually do the cutting. "You have to do it, Mulder. They'll be back. They'll find us all."

"You don't know that," he insisted. His hands were warm against her face, and he pulled her against him. She embraced him, seeking a forgiveness she knew he didn't think was necessary, but she knew it was. He searched out the back of her neck, and finding it intact,  
cupped his hand over it. "They didn't come here tonight. Maybe last night was a fluke."

She shook her head. "They'll be back. I know it."

"You can't know it, Scully -"

"I DO!" She yanked herself free from his arms, and took the strength that the darkness offered to tell him what she needed him to understand. "Mulder, I know. Just as you've always known that the truth was out there, so I know that those sons of bitches will be back. They won't let me succeed."

"I won't let you cut the chip out," Mulder said, matching her fervor. "Not now, not when there's no other way of controlling the cancer. I won't lose you now, Scully."

"You might have to. If you won't help me take the chip out, I'll have to leave the group."

"NO!"

"Mulder, think about it. If they're using me as a tracking device, I would lead the Colonists right to the Resistance. Look at what they've done to the weather...the earthquakes...they would wipe us out. After what they've done to this planet, erasing one insignificant mountain from the face of the Earth would be child's play."

"Scully, they're not tracking -"

The light and grinding roar came out of nowhere and bathed their tiny tent in blinding white. The packed snow that had fallen that day left a dark shadow over them, and Scully hoped it would be enough to throw the ship off. If, in fact, Mulder's theory was correct. Maybe, though, they just wanted to make sure their favorite lab rat was still on the track. Like a researcher goes into a hibernating bear's den to make sure it's still alive.

Mulder grabbed her and yanked her into his lap, and she held him just as tightly. If the Colonists were there to take her, she wasn't about to go willingly. The rumbling vibrated through her, and made it hard to hear her own thoughts. She closed her eyes, and prayed to God to protect them, trusting that He could hear them for her.

For almost a minute they were bombarded, and then the light and sound vanished, leaving darkness and the never-ending storm. Mulder didn't speak. He shook as he held her in his arms, his head buried in the crook of her neck. She felt his hot tears trail down her back between her shoulder blades.

Renee called out, "Dana? Mulder?"

"We're here," Scully yelled to her. "We're okay."

"Are we? Scully? Are we okay?" Mulder didn't bother to cover his distress. "Tell me we're okay."

"We will be," she told him, and stroked the back of his head. He pulled away from her, but in the dark she couldn't see the expression on his face. She didn't need to. "Mulder, you know it has to be done. How else would they know? It's in me, Mulder,  
and it needs to come out."

"But -"

"Don't fight me on this, Mulder. You know I'm right. You know that I wouldn't ask this of you if I weren't sure there was no other way."

"There must be -"

"No. I've worked with you for seven years. In all that time have I ever given you reason to doubt me? Mulder?"

"Of course not."

"Please, then, when we have so little to believe in, don't start to doubt me now."

When he didn't say anything, Scully reached into her pocket and withdrew the knife. Then, she reached past Mulder to the side pocket of his pack and pulled out the lighter. The tiny amount of light it produced was more than enough to see the strain and grief on her husband's face. His eyes were red slits on his pale face, his lips trembled with cold, his nose ran. Scully ran the blade over the flame, and then handed him the knife. He took it from her, but stared down at it as if it were a dead thing, putrid. She turned her back to him. It was easier to inhale deeply when she couldn't see his eyes.

Renee stood in the tent's main flap, staring at the blade in Mulder's hand, and then at the way Scully adjusted her two thermal shirts, so that the back of her neck was bared to him. She didn't say a word,  
though, as Scully held the lighter up to throw light on Mulder's work.

A single finger brushed the scar she wore almost reverently, and then he kissed her there. Scully tried to calm her shivers, tried to ignore the cold and focus on relaxing to stillness. The more solid she was, the easier it would be on him.

"One clean cut at an angle, then you should be able to pry it out with the point of the knife."

It was over in a matter of seconds. When Scully turned around to look, Mulder's bloody fingers held the minute metal disk. She took it from him and pressed it between her forefinger and her thumb. So small she could barely feel it, and yet it could've been their deaths. She pulled her shirts back into place and held the front of her parka together as she stumbled past Renee out into the storm. All she had to do was open her hand, and the chip simply vanished on the wind.

Renee touched her shoulder on her way back to the other tent, and then Scully returned to the darkened shelter and to Mulder.

"Now, that wasn't so bad," she said lightly, as they rearranged the bedding. He didn't say a word. Neither of them slept for a very long time.

He held her that night, but there was a distance in him that she couldn't reach.

End of Chapter 8

Journal 1999 - Chapter 9

"...yadda, yadda, yadda...aliens from outer space"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry, November 13, 1999

The days that followed were uniform in their dreary, frozen miserableness. Mulder spoke very little and avoided Scully's gaze without actively icing her out. Dag grew increasing agitated at Mulder's newfound solemness, but remained ignorant of its reason. Renee seemed to keep an eye on everyone and everything, and kept a lid on Logan's growing impatience with their situation.

Five days after they left the comfort of the small cabin, the food ran out, and all mapped landmarks were either swallowed up by the continuously rising waters, washed away by the unrelenting winds,  
or blanketed by the impenetrable snow. Ice chunks began to form in the swollen valleys, and became a real threat to their delicate raft.

Scully showed Logan what little she knew about fishing through ice, but nothing seemed to be alive under the rocky water. Some leaves and grasses were found buried feet below the mounting snow, but not enough to sustain them. No signs of civilization promised the group any hope.

The cold was defeating. But there were no further visits from the bright light in the middle of the night.

November 9, 1999

In the middle of the next day, Dag passed out.

Mulder and Renee pulled Dag up from his awkward position on the shallow floor of the raft and sat him on the last rung so he could lean back against the packs. He shivered, semi-coherent of his surroundings. Renee worked furiously to unzip and unbutton his top coat and then stripped off her own jacket to lend him her body heat. Scully wrapped several of the blankets around the two of them while Renee rubbed his arms and back vigorously.

"What the hell happened?" Logan demanded from behind them.

"Shock," Renee explained as she worked. "He's been reducing too quickly for good health." Dag had been more pale than usual, but Scully had dismissed it as too much cold and not enough sun; a condition they were all suffering from. "He's not eating enough proteins for his body to digest the rest of what little food he eats."

Logan dismissed the French woman with an angry shake of his head. "That doesn't make sense. The body needs complex carbs and fibers to aid digestion. Everyone knows that."

"Yes," Renee accepted, "but you must remember that where Dag comes from fish and goats are more common than grains. His normal diet is extremely high in calcium and proteins, and without them his body cannot function."

"Won't he adapt?" Mulder asked.

"In time," Renee said thoughtfully. "Yes, I think he might. But it would have to be a gradual process. This is..." Renee frustratingly gestured, searching for the right word.

"Cold turkey," Scully supplied. "Okay. Then we have to find a source of protein for him. And iron."

The trouble was, the only protein Scully could think of was wearing clothes.

Logan stared at the map. "I think we're here." He jabbed his thumb at the icy paper and then looked out the side flap of their tent raft to study the outline of the mountains through the storm. The wind had let up some since Dag fainted, but the volume of snow hadn't changed.

"How can you tell?" It all looked the same to Scully; cold and miserable. Even with the five of them huddled inside their tiny shelter, their collective body heat couldn't melt the snow that blew in the tent flaps.

"I can tell," he growled, and then stuffed the map into one of the many pockets on his coat.

"How far," Renee asked. She was busy massaging the circulation back into Dag's right hand.

Logan hesitated, gazed out at the storm. "Two days. Maybe."

Renee's shrewd brown eyes met his for a split second, and then she said, "We must find food."

"Right," Mulder said on an exhale. "Let's get to shore, make camp,  
and then see what we can do about finding food." It was the longest sentence any of them had heard from him in days. Briefly,  
he met Scully's gaze. His expression was tired, defeated.

The group worked slower on an empty stomach. With the wind and the snow battering her from every side, and her belly complaining from within, it took a small eternity for Scully, Dag and Renee to get the other tent set up. By that time Logan and Mulder had dragged the raft up the steep embankment, secured it,  
scouted out the area, and started to collect snow to be melted down for fresh water.

Inside the cold, cramped tent, Logan spelled out the plan he'd formulated while Mulder and Renee rubbed Dag vigorously, trying to work some pink into his chalky grey skin.

"There's a rocky slope just to the west of here. There's a good chance that some vegetation survived in the nooks there. To the east," he motioned with a thumb over his right shoulder, "the evergreens are thicker. There might be some rabbits or porcupines that have burrowed underneath the trees trying to get away from the storm. It's worth a try."

"Someone must stay with Dag," Renee said mater-of-factly. "The body cools quickly when it rests. If he falls asleep, he may freeze."

Logan eyed the Norweigin. "Fine. Renee, you stay with Dag, since you know what to do here. I'll go east and try to round up some meat for us." He motioned to Mulder and Scully. "You can check out the rocks and see if there's anything there we might eat. Most roots have a lot of vitamins. Bring back anything looks edible."

It wasn't much of a plan, but the focus of her simple task made Scully feel more grounded than she had in a while.

It was slow going. The snow that covered the uneven ground was well up to her mid-thighs, and Scully struggled with every step. The two layers of thermal underwear that she wore underneath her jeans did little to protect her legs from the cold wet. Her toes went numb before they lost sight of the tents.

Mulder positioned himself in front of her to help pave the way, and he acted as a narrow wind block as they trudged forward. But even his long legs had trouble stomping through the wet, packed snow, and they had to stop every couple of steps for him to check his footing.

The rocky slope Logan had mentioned looked like a rock slide froze by a slick layer of ice. Scully had no idea how the Australian expected them to break through that barrier and get at whatever plant life might be hiding beneath the small boulders. They would need pick axes to chip away at ice that thick.

Out of breath and starving, Scully dropped on top of one of the larger iced stones and folded herself into a little ball to catch the billowing warmth she was exhaling. Maybe if she could feel her face again, she might be able to think of something.

She felt the pressure of Mulder hand through the coat and sweaters she wore, and he worriedly said her name.

"I'm okay," she told him.

He dropped down beside her and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. They huddled together, folded over themselves, faces mere centimeters apart, sharing the small warmth of their breath. Once again he wasn't looking at her, but his mouth was right there,  
so close to hers, and they never had a moment alone these days...

Scully kissed him. But instead of returning the kiss, as she'd expected, he pulled away.

"No," he said as he stood and took a step away from her. "I can't."

Scully shook her head. "Can't? Why?"

"Because I failed you, Scully. Because I swore I would take care of you, and I failed." He wrapped his arms around his chest and hung his head low. "God, Scully."

"Mulder?"

He turned away from her. "How could you do it? Scully? How could you make me do it? I could've stopped it, I could've refused..."

For days not a word had been said about the removal of her implant. Now, they were finally going to have the conversation she'd been dreading; a conversation she knew they had to have. "There was no other way, Mulder. You knew that."

"I didn't know that!" he screamed. "I don't know that!" He spun around and grabbed her upper arms. His intensity frightened her. "All I know is that I was supposed to protect you - I swore that I would protect you - and instead I've killed you!"

"NO!" Scully stood as tall as she could and met his eyes. "I did it, Mulder. Me. It was my decision, my choice. And I'm not dead,  
Mulder. Don't write me off so easily."

"You threw away the implant -"

"I did it, Mulder, for the same reason I've done everything for the past seven years: because I love you!"

For a moment he just looked at her, then his face dropped and his eyes filled with tears. "That thing was keeping you alive! How can you possibly...?" He jerked away from her, his hands on his hips,  
the snow swirled around him. "You tell me you love me for the first time..." He shook his head and back away from her.

A high-pitched cry an instant before was all the warning Scully had that the bobcat was even there. It leapt at her, landing squarely against her shoulders, and slammed her hard against the brick-hard ice. Its yellowed teeth gnashed at her face, and she managed to force her forearm into the cat's mouth before it bit out a chunk of her cheek. Its jaws were like an iron clamp. She felt her ulna and radius snap, and then the pain flooded through her entire body.

Vaguely, she heard Mulder screaming her name above her own panicked cries. Without warning the creature let her go, and she opened her eyes to see it dive, claws extended, at her husband. The knife that had been sheathed in her pocket, intended to cut whatever vegitation they found free from the frozen earth, was in her left hand before she made the conscious decision to pull it out. She ran with all her strength at the bobcat, and plunged the blade into the animal's neck. The cat twitched as it fell to the ground; its mouth opened once, twice, before its golden eyes rolled back and its tongue rolled out of its bleeding mouth. Steam escaped from the growing pool of red near its head. Scully yanked her knife free, and more blood poured out. It coated her hand, filled her nostrils with the smell of death.

The adrenaline washed through her and left her shaking and empty. Another death. Always another.

Mulder moaned, and Scully rushed to his side. The bobcat had ripped through his coat and sweaters, and he had a bleeding gash across the left side of his torso. Scully pressed her left hand over it to staunch the flow.

"It's not too bad," he gasped. "I don't think it's very deep." He looked over at the dead animal and then back at Scully again,  
astonishment filled his eyes. "You got it."

"Do you think you can walk?" All she could think about was getting him back to their camp where they could get out of the storm and Renee could look him over with her medical kit. It was possible that the bobcat had ruptured something, and the intense cold masked the pain from him.

"Yeah," he said with a groan as he rolled on his side and then pushed himself up off the ground. "Let's get back," he said over the rising wind. Then, he grabbed one of the cat's hind legs and started back on the trail that they'd carved out of the blanket of snow. Scully slowly followed.

They hadn't gone far from the campsite, and yet it seemed miles to Scully. Every step became torture. Her head began to swirl like the flakes in front of her, and her lungs pounded. The cold sapped her energy so completely that when the tents came into view, her knees folded with relief.

Just a little farther, she told herself. But the queasy feeling in her stomach kept her from getting up, and before she knew it she was vomiting bile into the white snow. It wasn't until Mulder was beside her, touching her shoulder and asking if she was okay that she remembered her broken arm. She cried out as wave after wave of shocking pain cascaded up her arm and then down the rest of her body. Mulder called for help, and Scully was vaguely aware that Logan was somewhere nearby.

"My arm is broken," she told her husband, afraid he might try to lift her by her injured arm.

"Let's get you inside," he said, coaxingly, one hand on her back.

Her head was still spinning, and there was a ringing in her ears. Scully was sure that if she attempted to stand again, she would either throw up again or end up face down in the snow.

"I need a minute," she told him.

Mulder wasn't willing to wait. He scooped her up, and with Logan's help, managed to get her into the tent with Renee and Dag without bumping her arm. Inside the tight space, out of the storm,  
Scully's shivering was more pronounced. She tried not to scream as Mulder carefully took off her coat, but there was no room to move about, and at one point Logan passed Renee the waterproof bag she kept her medical supplies in, and he bumped Mulder who,  
in turn, knocked Scully's arm. She closed her eyes and waited for the colored lights behind her closed lids to dissipate.

Taking off her sweaters wasn't any more pleasant.

"What happened?" Renee demanded once she saw the extent of Scully's injuries. The puncture wounds where the bobcat's teeth had sunk into her flesh were black and green, and oozed dark,  
thick blood. Her forearm was bend at an impossible angle. Scully's dizziness intensified, and she had to look away.

It took a while for Renee to set the broken bones, and in that time Mulder was so antsy that Renee ended up sending him to the raft tent so she could concentrate. The two pain pills that Renee produced for Scully didn't even take a dent out of the agony in her arm.

"We should eat this before it cools," Logan said as he crawled in their shelter again, bringing with him a bowl full of raw meat from the carcass of the bobcat that Mulder dragged back to camp. He cut off a generous piece and handed it to Dag. The Norwegian stared down at it, not understanding what he was expected to do with the bloody meat.

"It's fresh," Logan told him. "You can eat it."

"It's no cook," Dag said, confused.

"If I could make a fire, I would cook it for you," Logan snapped. "But I can't. Eat." And then, to prove it could be done, Logan took a big bite out of the raw muscle. A line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. Renee watched him in horror. Dag glanced from Logan back down to the meat he held,  
and then up at Scully. She tried to hide her revulsion. Dag had to eat. And so did the rest of them. They didn't eat the only food they had, none of the would survive their trip to the underground city.

If it even existed.

Her right arm was bound tightly, so with her left Scully reached out from under her blanket and took a hunk of the meat for herself. It was a little sticky and warm. Not at all like the cube steak she used to get at the supermarket. The meat she held was smelled of blood and the stink of a wild animal. Scully closed her eyes and tried to imagine it as nothing more than a harmless piece of sushi. Then she popped it into her mouth and swallowed it down without chewing.

Once she'd eaten her piece, Dag found the courage to eat his own. The first bite for him woke his hunger, and he smiled at Logan and Scully as he snatched up big chunks of the bloody flesh and stuffed them into his mouth.

Renee, feeling a little more adventurous after seeing Dag's response, was able to get down a swallow or two, but Scully couldn't. Even if it had been cooked., seasoned, and dished up on bone china she wouldn't have been able to keep the food down. The pain she was in made her stomach cramp. All she wanted to do was crawl into Mulder's arms and sleep the hurt away.

She found her husband in the raft, poking at the bandages around his middle. "How's your scratch," she asked as lightly as she could manage. "It looks like Renee's handwork."

"Yeah," Mulder said, smoothing his hand over his side. "It's not bad. I probably won't even have any impressive scars. Unlike you." He reached up and put a guiding hand at her back to ease her down beside him. "How's the arm."

"It'll mend."

They adjusted until the bedding was securely around the both of them, and then Mulder pulled her between his bent legs and she leaned into the warmth of his chest. When she couldn't see his face,  
he said quietly, "I promised your mother that I would keep you safe."

"My mother?"

She felt him nod against her head, and then the pressure of a kiss. "I called her from the courthouse the day we got married, when you were in the ladies room cleaning up. I tried calling my mother, too,  
but there was no answer." He combed his fingers through her hair,  
smoothed it back from her face. "I told her that we were getting married, and she cried. I promised her that I would keep you safe. I told her that I loved you, and that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

"She cried?"

"Uh-huh."

Scully tried to picture her mother in her living room, or maybe in the kitchen doing dishes, and then picking up the phone to learn that her only remaining daughter was moments away from getting married. The last time Scully had seen her mother, her mother wouldn't even let her in the house. She'd known that Scully had come to tell her something bad; she knew instinctively that Charlie was gone. So, Scully had had to stand on the front step of her mother's home and explained the fate of her youngest brother. Her mother had cried then, too.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

End of Chapter 9

Journal 1999 - Chapter 10

"...I know They're still alive out there, the men who Mulder and I fought against -- sometimes with our very lives...these men who took Mulder's sister all those years ago, who murdered my sister and abducted me...robbed me of my children. They are still alive. Hiding, perhaps under ground, in an abandoned mine, in windmills... and now Mulder and I are righting Their wrongs,  
saving the world for Them, so They have something to emerge into when They leave Their holes. After everything They've done to us,  
to break us and wear us down, They need us. How utterly ironic...how fucking poetic"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry, November 11, 1999.

November 23, 1999 Somewhere in the Alps

A week passed, and no signs of civilization were found. It wasn't hard to imagine their group as the last people alive in the world. At night, huddled with her husband, Scully closed her eyes and they were alone with no nemesis to fight, no alien force hunting them down, no worries other than basic survival; food, warmth, shelter. And love.

Mulder held her, caressed her, and even grazed her temple with his lips from time to time, but he shrugged off her attempts at anything more intimate with excuses of exhaustion and cold. Both of which were legitimate, and yet Scully couldn't help feel the distance between them. It was hard not to tie his hesitancy back to her decision to remove her implant.

But then, Scully would consider the stress they were all under and dismiss her suspicions as paranoia on her part. They needed real shelters, real food, a hot bath, physical and emotional rest. In short,  
they needed to get to wherever it was they were going.

An underground city in the heart of a mountain. It seemed like a fantasy, a magical construct to placate a rebellious child. What did they actually know about the German? Nothing that she could get out of her groupmates. And Skinner - he was in all of this somehow - and Scully had had reason to doubt his allegiances in the past.

Scully burrowed closer to her husband, wanting to quiet her mind enough to sleep, wishing he would make love with her so she could lose herself in sensation for a while and enjoy what little darkness they had left. Because, then the grey light of morning came again,  
she knew they'd have to trudge forward. They had to. There was nothing to go back to.

November 25, 1999 Thanksgiving Somewhere in the Alps

Noah's storm lasted forty days and forty nights. Scully's was on day thirty-nine, and showed no signs of letting up. The flakes were as fat and wet as ever, and the relentless winds blew them at a constant slant.

She sighed and closed the pen inside her journal. It was too difficult to write left handed with the raft jerking and bobbing. Her broken right arm lay aching against her middle beneath the blanket. It was impossible for her to row, but she did take her turn out in front of the tent, directing them away from mini icebergs and other floating debris. In ten minutes her turn would come again.

She dropped the book at her feet and rubbed her numb nose. How long had it been since she'd worn make-up? Weeks?

"Dana Scully, my, my." Logan's taunting voice pulled her out of her reverie and the sight of her journal in his hands made her stomach clench. It wasn't the blue book that had his attention,  
though, it was the folded piece of paper she kept inside it. "Married in such haste."

"Give it back, Logan." She held out her hand. "Put it back inside my journal and give it back."

The glint in his eyes told her he was simply having too much fun tormenting her. After all, she was the only sport around. "I just find it interesting that you and Mulder were married the day before the attack. Was it terribly romantic? Were you wearing white?"

"Logan, damn it!"

"Why, Dana Scully, losing her cool. Imagine that." She lurched for the paper and the boat tipped drastically.

Shouts of protest came from Renee and Dag directly in front of them, but it was Mulder's harsh, "LOGAN!" that got everyone's attention. He stood hunched over in the front flap with fire in his eyes. With the additional week's growth on his beard, Mulder looked like a madman, possessed, dangerous. "Give it back to her."

Scully took the advantage that Mulder's sudden appearance gave her, and plowed into Logan's middle, knocking him forward and off balance. Scully grabbed for the license just Logan's knee came into solid contact with her broken arm. Pain ricocheted through her arm and torso as her right hand became folded between his leg and belly in the struggle to right the raft.

Everyone screamed at once, angry, scared, desperate for control of the situation that had suddenly turned dangerous. If they capsized,  
not only would they be spilled into icy waters, but they would all be trapped inside the tent. It would be a deathtrap.

The small boat lurched over another high wave, and Mulder went crashing down on top of Dag. Logan twisted in an effort to stay inside the solid metal hull, and sound faded out under the rush of blood in Scully's ears. Agony that burned through every cell in her body. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think for the pain.

The pain. The pain.

It took a lifetime for the raft to settle again, and the water remained rocky and unpredictable. In that time she heard Mulder's voice as if through thick cotton, babbling her name asking if she was all right. She couldn't respond. Until he touched her shoulder and refreshed the pain. Scully curled into a tight ball, sweating and gasping the freezing air, in an attempt to ride out the waves of agony.

Somewhere nearby, Logan continued to curse.

Mulder was closer. "Scully, let me see your hand."

"Please don't...don't touch me."

"Scully, we need to see your arm. Renee can't help -" He brushed away the limp hair that cascaded over her face, and Scully jerked up and away from him. Lights danced before her eyes, her stomach revolted and she gagged. The pain was too much. Scully pressed herself against the pack in the back of the raft in an effort to stay upright and conscious. Sweat dripped down her face. The cold made her shake. And the pain...

"Scully..." Mulder's voice was little more than a whisper of horror. It was a sound even in agony Scully couldn't ignore.

She opened her eyes and saw his pale face, opened mouth, shaking head. Tears flooded his eyes as he stared, unblinking at her mouth. His legs buckled, and he went down hard on his knees. The metal raft pitched.

"Scully..." He stared at the blood pooling between her lips.

She glanced down at the bright red on her finger tips and then touched her mouth again. The warm wetness covered her upper lip, her left nostril. Scully closed her eyes. Nosebleed.

Renee helped her stop the flow, gave her two pain killers, and then bundled her up in a couple of blankets before she turned to Logan and his swelling black eye. Mulder's knuckles on his right hand were red-bruised, so it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. If his fist hurt, though, Mulder didn't seem to notice. He sat on his heels, defeated.

"Stop staring at me," Scully whispered harshly.

He lowered his head, swallowed. "I'll be outside."

"Wait. Mulder." It would still be some time before Scully felt the benefit of the pain killers, and her head was fuzzy and throbbing from the pain. "It's cold. We're at a high altitude. There are a hundred different reasons for the nosebleed."

He nodded, but didn't look at her, and then climbed out the front flap and out to the blizzard.

"Mulder not okay," Dag said quietly.

"He's just tired," Scully told him. "We're all very, very tired."

Dag picked up her forgotten journal and the crumpled marriage license, and folded one in the other. "I think we must find Grauspitz soon."

"Yes," Scully agreed. She closed her eyes. Funny how they were looking for one particular mountain in the Alps. In a blizzard. Without any way of pinpointing their exact location. Hysterical,  
even.

The sun set quickly, and with the growing night came a harsh wind that kicked the snow up from the frozen ground and drove it like iced daggers at her flesh. Scully hurried from nightly toilet break behind a fallen fir tree back to the raft tent she called home. Mulder was there, in the dark, just as distant as their elusive hidden city.

She kicked the snow from her boots before toeing them off. It was important to say as warm and as dry as possible, and that meant stripping off her jeans, coat and sweaters, leaving her in nothing more than her thermal underwear and socks, and then crawling into the makeshift bed with Mulder, even though nothing had been resolved between them. Under the covers, he rubbed her thighs and shoulders vigorously to help promote body heat. It was clear in his touch that was all he was trying to promote.

"We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." His stale breath was hot against her dry, chapped cheek. "Just hold me, Scully, and go to sleep."

If only it were that easy. She wrapped her tender right arm across his chest and smoothed the tips of her other fingers across the soft hair on his face. "If you won't talk to me, Mulder, then make love to me."

He stilled her hand. "Scully."

"I'm not going to go away. Eventually you're going to have to deal with me, Mulder." She waited for him to respond, and when there wasn't one she continued. "We've never been talkers, you and I. We've always communicated with a touch or a glance. So if it's easier, then kiss me. Or hit me. Just don't shut me out."

"I don't want to hit you, Scully."

She doubted that was true. "Then I guess you're going to have to kiss -"

His lips crushed hers silent, and his hands came up to hold her head steady as his tongue stabbed between her teeth. He made a strange noise, something between a hiccup and a moan, and suddenly he shifted from beneath her, pushed her down where he had been. He covered her with his body. The weight of him on top of her was instantly satisfying. A tingle of excitement fluttered through her belly and thighs.

His kisses were aggressive, demanding, but not angry. He told her with his mouth and hands that he loved her. He told her with the salty tears that dropped from his face to hers that he was hurting. She didn't want him to hurt.

Getting undressed under the blankets in the cramped space of their tent was awkward, all the more so because Scully was operating one-handed. They took turns, first working her undershirts up above her breasts, high enough for Mulder to push the cotton of her bra out of the way and take the whole of her nipple in his mouth. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive tips until a deep ache burned between her legs and she pulled his head back up to hers.

"I love you," she whispered as she kissed him. I love you, she told him with her tongue and teeth.

The bottons of his fly were difficult. She struggled with them for a short while, and then abandoned the impossible task to stroking the length of him through the denim. He pressed into her palm,  
grunted at the pleasure of the friction.

Finally, he brushed her hand out of the way, and worked at the buttons himself. When his warmth and weight returned to her, she felt his erection press in to her belly. Blazing skin on skin. She wanted that sensation lower.

It was much easier for Mulder to yank her long underwear down past her hips and thighs. By the time she kicked them out of the way, he was there again, his mouth devouring hers, his chest pressed to her exposed breasts, the hairs on his stomach bristling the sensitive skin of her lower belly, the rigid heat of his cock cradled between her legs.

It amazed Scully that she'd never made love to him lying down. It seemed so natural, the most natural thing in the world for him to be on top of her, for his tongue to caress the roof of her mouth, his hand to smooth around the underside of her ass, curling her leg up and over his own hip, opening her thighs even more for him. What could be more simple, more basic? Words were too clumsy; easily misconstrued, mistaken, misheard. There was no confusion when his hand guided hers to his erection. She understood completely.

Scully smoothed her palm over the soft head of his shaft and found enormous pleasure in his abrupt intake of air. She did it again and was rewarded with a guttural moan. Tracing down the length of him, she found his balls and gently cupped them, squeezed. He collapsed against her shoulder, kissing and sucking at her neck.

"Jesus, Scully."

One long, heavy stroke of her hand later, and Mulder was positioned and ready to go. He slid into her slowly, smoothly, until his hips rested in the cradle of her legs. They both groaned at the exquisite pleasure.

His first movements were small and testing, but he quickly found a rhythm and Scully rocked her pelvis a little to meet it. And, oh,  
yes, she understood the gasps and grunts, she read his trembling arms as they braced on either side of her head. She knew he was rapidly losing all ability to think. Scully reached down and ran her fingertips over the contracting muscles in his ass. He whimpered in her ear. He told her that she felt intoxicating without ever uttering a coherent word.

Scully had long thought there was nothing so erotic as a man in the throes of lust.

"Scu..."

He was close. His thrusts were harder, faster, more determined. The sensations he produced inside her were pleasure in its purest form, but not enough to send her over the brink. For that she needed more time, more warmth, more room to get comfortable. But he was close, and would soon sink into her so deep, and tell her that he loved her...

"Shit!" His outburst was punctuated by their abrupt separation that simultaneously let the freezing air into their tiny nest and sent a cramp through the center of her body.

"What's the matter?" she gasped out, yanking the blankets back down to her.

He pulled away, let her have the covers. In the darkness she heard him scrambling for his clothes. "Scully..." His voice broke into a whisper, barely audible over the storm. "Oh, God, Scully."

"Mulder? What's wrong?"

"Scully, I can't...pretend." He sounded angry, upset. "How could you just throw it away? Don't you understand how much you mean to me? Everything. You mean everything to me. I can't watch you die again, Scully."

"Nobody's dying around here." The darkness covered his expression; Mulder was impossible to read accurately without reading his eyes. "It's not so easy to get rid of me, you know."

"The cancer, Scully."

"We've already had this conversation." She sighed. "Listen to me,  
Mulder, because I'm only going to say this one more time." She waited until she heard the zipper of his parka, and then took a deep breath. "I've been in remission for years now. You don't know that the chip did that for me - don't argue with me. You don't. And even if it did, we don't know that it's kept me in remission. But even if it was responsible, there's no way of knowing if it would continue to function in the same capacity. The Colonists didn't create the chip that was in my neck, but they were able to use it to track us. How do we know that they couldn't just turn it off any time they wanted to? How do we know that it would continue to work even after we destroy them?" He was still and silent. She hoped it was actually considering what she was saying. "We don't know."

"But Scully -"

"As far as I'm concerned, Mulder, the chip in my neck was serving one purpose when I threw it away: to betray our location to the enemy. Now, it can't hurt us."

"Oh, Scully."

"Mulder."

In a fraction of a second, white light and a blaring grinding sound blasted down on them from above. Mulder practically dove for her,  
he was on top of her so fast. He gripped her tight enough to knock the wind from her lungs. Scully could see the shadows of the snow on top of their tent, and the blizzard still raging around them, and the shape of something lowering from above. It landed hard on the packed snow beside the tent.

Mulder whipped out the knife from his pack behind them, and held it out defensively the way Dag had carefully instructed. The creature that approached wasn't alien, though. It was human.

"Hello?" A man's bass voice called out. "Anyone home?"

Mulder hesitated, but Scully didn't. The man wasn't going to simply leave without checking the inside of the tent, and there was no way that they were going to escape whatever it was that was hovering above them. Better to play along and see what the man wanted.

"We're in here," she yelled back.

A helmeted man poked his head in their tent. "And there you are"  
he repeated with a grin on his freckled face. He couldn't have been more than twenty five, and his accent was definitely American. "We've been looking for you guys for weeks!"

"What?" Mulder sat in shock, still not letting Scully go.

"Come on," the man urged. "I'm Lieutenant Dennis Adams, Special Forces, Search and Rescue. We're here to take you guys home."

Mulder looked up at the light that streamed down on them, and then into Scully's eyes. Pain, regret, loss, fear. "It wasn't the chip,  
it was never the chip"

End of Chapter 10   
Journal 1999 - Chapter 11

"...in that one moment when time stops and waits for you to catch up again, worlds can be born...worlds can die"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
journal entry, October 22, 1999.

November 26, 1999 Hidden City in southern Liectenstein

Scully's eyelids drooped as the blood slowly drip, drip, dripped from her arm. The catheter attached to her inner elbow was unlike any medical technology she'd ever seen before, much like the strange plane that brought the whole group to the underground vaults. The name Hidden City was misleading. A city was made up of buildings and streets, while the Hidden City was made up of endless tunnels and walkways, rooms and more rooms all lined with a smooth, hard plastic that kept it cold inside their sepulcher.

On her left, Mulder sat not five feet away from her, arms crossed,  
eyes half closed in exhaustion. His face held more lines than ever before. The pale skin where his beard had been stood out in stark contrast to the red, chapped flesh on his nose and around his eyes and forehead. He looked like a man who had climbed Mount Everest, but never made it to the top.

Scully felt guilty that he continued to sit in what was obviously an uncomfortable metal chair while the others had left them hours before for the luxury of clean linens on real beds. And the way he stared at her, unblinking was starting to piss her off. "Why don't you go on back to the room they gave us and get the bed warm for me."

"I'll stay." His words were hard, unforgiving. He'd turned quiet and distant in their brief rescue plane ride, and in hours since the remoteness had been honed to a bitter point.

She knew the catalyst for his dark mood, and had hoped to avoid discussing it until she'd had a full night's sleep. But, unable to take his glower anymore she finally gave in and broached the subject. "Are you angry?"

"Why should I be angry?" he asked cooly.

Scully sighed. "Mulder, you have to let it go. It's done. The chip is gone. I know that you feel like somehow you've lost the control,  
but it's all an illusion."

"You're saying I haven't lost the control?" he asked, doubtful.

She rocked her head against the pillow supporting it. "I'm telling you, you never had it."

His bloodshot eyes met hers. "I love you Scully, I married you. I'd die for you. But I can't forgive you. At least not yet."

It hurt too much to look at him, his accusatorial stare telling her what he didn't dare voice. She gazed at the polished white ceiling and her cloudy reflection in it instead. "How long will you be mad?"

"I don't know." It was an honest answer at least, she took comfort in that. He offered her little else, just his constant presence, a gift which was rapidly wearing her down. She needed to sleep for a solid week before she'd be in any shape to deal with his passive aggression. And now that they were surrounded by civilization again, there was no reason for them to be connected at the hip. Maybe a little distance would give them better perspective. Logically, they'd both be able to think better when their emotions weren't under constant strain.

"Should I ask for a separate room tonight?" Logan, Dag and Renee all received their own tiny apartments, so it logical that there would be one more available somewhere in the complex.

His lack of response forced her to look at him. Mulder sat forward,  
stunned and upset. Slowly, he asked, "You're giving up? You used to be a fighter."

"This isn't a fight, Mulder. I won't fight you."

He shook his head, and his leg started bobbing up and down in agitation. "I won't let you give up on us." He sounded lost. The uncertainty in his voice made her stomach fold over.

"On us? Is that what you think? No, Mulder, never. I'll never give up on us. That's not even a consideration. I just thought, if we had a little distance, a little perspective..." Scully was so tired that the tears were difficult to dodge. She inhaled deeply and concentrated on the cast over her right arm. "I wish I could take it back, Mulder. I wish I could make it right. Not because I think the chip was keeping me alive and now I'm afraid that the cancer might come back, but because you believe it will. I can't live with you hating me for it."

"I don't hate you, Scully. I didn't say I hated you." He swallowed with some difficulty, and his voice quivered as he added, "I love you..." One of the tears slipped over his bottom lashes, and it skipped quickly down his cheek. He quickly brushed it aside as Dr.  
Bohr emerged from the narrow door that connected the hospital bay with his office.

"Ah." The young Brit doctor had a medley of unidentified instruments hanging from the pocket of his white lab coat, a clip board tucked under one arm, and an excited look on his fair, lean face. "Nearly finished."

Bohr seemed a nice enough man, even if a little too preoccupied with Scully's blood and tissues for comfort. He was introduced as Educated in Prague at their National Academy, and as a member of the elite group of scientists that first engineered the Vaccine. She was introduced as Dana Scully.

"Once you catch up on your sleep we will go over the lab results and discuss the data that my team has amassed. I'm eager to get your feedback," Dr. Bohr said, not taking his eyes off of the pouch of collected blood hanging from the side of her bed. "And we can also arrange the tests that your husband has requested."

Scully's brows lowered and she turned to her husband. "What tests?"

"I..." Mulder hesitated as Bohr unhooked the line to Scully's arm. "The doctor said that they have the single most advanced medical facility on the planet right here."

"Well." Dr. Bohr chuckled. "That would hardly be a challenge,  
considering the condition of the rest of the world. I believe what I said was, that if there are any complications as a result of your implant being removed, Hidden City is the place to be." The man lifted her chin with his finger and studied her face. "I've studied women like you." His pupils dilated the smallest bit. The way he looked at her unnerved her. His breath smelled of coffee and cigarettes.

"Maybe I can help you. To thank you for all the help you're giving us." He indicated the bag of blood, then unclipped it and held it up to the flourescent light. "The secret's in here. It has to be." Then,  
once again, Scully was forgotten, and Dr. Bohr scurried from the room with his new prize.

"Come on," Mulder muttered as he stripped the warmth of the blanket from her legs. "Let's get some sleep."

The walk to their small, private room was a fifteen minute handhold away.

December 6, 1999

A week of blood samples, tissue removals, a spinal tap and a bone marrow extraction proved frustrating, excruciating, and ultimately unfruitful. The junk DNA in Scully's cells was so fragmented that it refused every effort of resuscitation that Dr. Bohr had devised. When the last test had been run, and he walked over to where she lay on her side on the hospital bed and shook his head, Scully closed her eyes. Hot tears ran down one cheek and into the pillow.

All the weeks of suffering, the starvation, the freezing cold, all the pain that she and the other members of the group had been forced to endure, it was all a waste. But worse than that was the knowledge that now they had no weapon with which to fight the Colonists.  
December 12, 1999

It was late. The analog clock on the wall said it was 02:07. Scully stared at it until it read 02:08. Then, she turned back to the microscope in front of her.

Her eyes were bothering her. The prescription reading glasses she always kept by her computer in her apartment in DC were probably floating under a hundred feet of ocean. And being inside, closed in from any kind of visual distance was putting too much strain on her ocular muscles. The headaches were almost constant.

"You're still here? Can the work really be so fascinating?" Renee stood in the doorway, her arms crossed against her ample chest. She wore the standard grey jumpsuit that everyone wore in the City, but somehow it fit her better. She tugged her open cardigan,  
and took a seat across from Scully at the lab table. "You need to sleep sometime, Dana."

"What about you?"

"Yes, well," she mumbled and picked a piece of lint from her sweater, a lopsided smirk on her face. "I don't have a husband waiting for me to come to bed."

"Neither do I," she muttered bitterly under her breath.

"Oh. I see. You have had a fight."

"No fight. A fight has some sort of resolution." She pressed the heels of her hands into her aching eyes. "No, Mulder and I don't see each other enough to fight. He is gone when I wake up in the morning, working on whatever it is that he and Dag are doing. And then when I get home, he's already in bed, asleep."

Renee's perfectly coifed brows arched higher. "And this makes you happy?"

"Of course not. But sometimes I think it's easier."

"Easier?"

"Mulder blames me. He feels that in my decision to remove the chip I've somehow failed him. And us. I've tried to make him understand, but he closes off and looks at me with those sad eyes of his, and I can't deal with it anymore. If he would talk to me, if he would..."

"Would what?"

Scully closed her eyes again and sighed. Thinking about Mulder just made her head throb that much more. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. In all of the years I've known Mulder we've never really talked anything through. Usually we fight, and then go off on our own and discover the resolution we need, and the find each other again. But here..." She glanced at the white plastic walls that lined the lab. "There's no place to go."

Renee nodded for a moment, taking in what she had said. "Your husband came to see me tonight."

Scully's stomach clenched. She studied the slide specimens on the table in front of her. "He did?"

"Yes. I was just starting to fall asleep when he knocked on my door."

Scully's throat tightened. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear anymore. "Was he all right?"

"Oh, Dana," Renee admonished, "You have no reason to be jealous. Mulder simply asked if I had seen you. He said you missed dinner again."

"He knows I'm here."

"Yes, that seemed the case. But he asked anyway, and then he asked if you had confided anything to me that perhaps he should know. For instance, why you're avoiding him. He thinks, perhaps,  
you are desperately unhappy."

"Oh." Scully rested her head in her hands, and pressed on her temples. "He said that? 'Desperately unhappy?'"

"No. I said that. He said, 'In a funk.'" Her attempt at an American dialect brought a smile to Scully's lips. Renee continued as casual as ever, undaunted by the personal nature of her inquisition. "So,  
do you want to confide something for me to tell him?"

"No. No. I'll take care of it, Renee."

"Good. I hoped you would say that. He is waiting up for you."

Scully nodded. "Thank you."

Renee shrugged and slipped off the stool. "One last thing, Dana. No matter what you think, no one faults you for not having the necessary information in your cells to perfect the Vaccine. Mulder said that you took that news very badly. Much worse than the rest of us."

"He said that?"

Renee cocked her head to one side. "He may not seem to notice everything, Dana, but when it comes to you, he does."

Scully slipped into their room and closed the door behind herself. The space heater that Mulder had managed to get a hold of did little to actually warm the room, but it gave off white noise that dulled absolute silence of living a mile below the surface. She found the bed with her knee and then stripped off her clothes and crawled under the blankets of the bed.

He wasn't asleep - she couldn't hear his deep breathing - but he didn't move when she found his warm thigh.

"Mulder? You don't have to say anything. I just..."

He rolled to her and found her face in the dark with his hand. Lightly, with just his finger tips, he brushed over the delicate lines of her brows, the ridge of her nose, and the hollow below her lower lip. Then he leaned closer to her and pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue stroked hers with both strength and tenderness, he pressed her down into the pillow. The flesh of his belly and legs were like fire against her chilled skin, and he covered her with his warmth. He kissed her chin, and down her neck, worked his way to the sensitive tips of her breasts.

She opened her legs, and he thrust his way inside. Gasps of pleasure escaped from them both.

"Scully." His voice was breathy and dark with arousal, with desire. He rocked above her and sank in deeper. His hips shifted, lifted, and then he pushed back inside her. She kissed his shoulder and then his throat while she tilted her pelvis in time to his thrusts With a grunt, he collapsed down to his elbows, pressed his face into the crook of her neck, and continued to rhythmically impale her. Then he kissed his way to her mouth, and as their tongues dueled, his thrusts became harder and full of passion. Just the way he knew she liked them.

For a small eternity Scully let the physical take over, relishing the mixture of sensations and emotions until they all swept through her at once in an overwhelming wave. When she surfaced again,  
Mulder was just moving off of her, having found a crest of his own.

They snuggled together under the weight of blankets, warm skin against skin, arms wrapped tightly, protectively. Not another word was spoken that night, or the next. But in that quiet time, nothing beyond their four walls existed. And when Scully closed her eyes and pressed her ear to her husband's chest, even the loss that she carried in her heart seemed to melt away.

When she was a child, Charlie had explained that time was like air,  
it was everywhere, all the time, and Scully had believed in her six year old way, that if she held her breath long enough she could stop time all together. Like taking a living, breathing picture of one perfect moment.

What she wouldn't give to be six again.

End of Chapter 11  
Epilogue - Journal 1999   
"It's been seventy-seven days since Mulder and I married, and seventy-five days since the Colonists first attacked. Tomorrow is the first day of the last year of the twentieth century, and hardly anyone is left to see it. Estimates show that of the six billion people that were alive in October of this year, less than ten million of us have survived.

"That's five billion, nine hundred ninety people presumed dead.

"It's been seventy days since we've seen the sun. Some days it helps to know it's up there, above the clouds, just waiting for a break in the storm. Some days it doesn't help.

"And still, life manages to go on.  
"I try not to dwell on it. I try not to do the math. It's easier to focus on the work that we continue to do if I don't calculate the overwhelming odds against us. Mulder doesn't tell me that everything will be okay anymore. I think that scares me more than the numbers.

"We - and I mean we, the seven thousand of us that make up the primary Resistance force - persevere. We continue to fight like a bull against a matador. We are a beaten people, and we bleed, but the concept of surrender isn't in us. We fight because there is no other choice. We will find the answer to the Vaccine, because there is no other way. Every new day hold the promise of a breakthrough, at least in theory, and that is our mantra.

"This is how we, the collective, get through the day.

"I'm not sure how I, personally, do it. Except, that I find I fantasize about what I would be doing if; if the Colonists had never attacked, if Mulder had been wrong instead of always right, if I were able to conceive. There are a lot of if's for me. And it's strange where some of them take me. After what we have had to endure these last few months, I now look back on the mundane -  
the trips to the dry cleaners, endless piles of paperwork, buying a carton of milk - with a relish that only the aged and infirm have understood. Now, of course, we all understand. Mulder talks about starting up a baseball team with some of the guys in the Statistics Department so he can play out the 2000 World Series. He tells me the Mets are sure to win if only he can convince Hans from Engineering to pitch, and Dag to play first base. I'm not holding my breath.

"But in the mean time, we're trying to get used to living in the Hidden City - or as Mulder refers to it: Ice Planet Hoth.

"I wonder how long we will be forced to live like this.

"And how long I can keep the nosebleeds from Mulder"  
-Dana Katherine Scully,  
Journal entry, December 31, 1999.

End of Journal 1999   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The ever lovely Dianora gave editorial feedback on the first draft of this story, and the incomparable Amy Vincent worked through the second draft. Both women deserve my love and gratitude, and have it unconditionally. Journal 1999 was started in June of 1997. It makes me cry when I think about that.  
Thanks for playing.


End file.
